


Saturday Nights, Sunday Mornings

by DRHPaints



Category: Conan O’Brien, Late Night Host RPF, SNL - Fandom, Saturday Night Live, Saturday Night Live RPF
Genre: 1990 Conan, Comedy, Conan O’Brien - Freeform, Cunnilingus, Dancing, Dirty Talk, Dry Humping, Explicit Language, Explicit Sex, F/M, Fingering, Fluff, Office Sex, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Physical Attack Described, Public Sex, Sex at work, Smut, Threat of Sexual Violence, Trauma Recovery, Writer Conan O’Brien, alcohol use, blowjob, sketch comedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-03-05 09:08:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 33,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25348234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DRHPaints/pseuds/DRHPaints
Summary: It’s 1990 and Conan is a successful writer at Saturday Night Live.  When a new writer joins and finds herself a little in over her head, Conan offers to help.
Relationships: Conan O’Brien/Original Female Character
Kudos: 12





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I’m doing my best to make this as accurate as possible with the information available, but some things I do have to make up on the fly. I largely am unable to find exactly which sketches Conan contributed to during his time at SNL, so I may be attaching him to work that rightfully belongs to others, and for that I apologize.
> 
> If you enjoyed this, please leave a comment or come say hi on tumblr at fandomtransmandom :-)

Conan squirmed. His abnormally long legs, clad in pale denim, were pulled practically up to his neck as he sat on the office floor, wedged between Smigel and Odenkirk. As per usual, Lorne was late.  
At twenty minute after the hour Michaels strolled in and sat behind the desk, his office crowded with tittering cast and writers.   
“Alright everybody,” he began in his signature drawl. “A new season is upon us and we have a few changes. First of all, David and Rob will now be moving from writers to cast,” he gestured in their direction and they were met with a smattering of applause. “We also have three new cast members: Chris Rock,” a young, rail-thin black man raised a hand in acknowledgement. “Chris Farley,” a man who could have been the bizarro version of the previous fellow gave a boisterous salute, his button-up shirt straining against his massive frame. “And Julia Sweeney,” a young woman gave a pleasant little wave.  
“We also have a new writer joining the staff, Dawn Damel,” he gestured to a woman in a gray hoodie about four times too large for her with a mass of wavy red hair piled on top of her head in a messy bun. She raised a hand timidly as though she were posing a question in class and the corner of Conan’s mouth twitched in amusement.  
“Monday will be our first pitch meeting, host Kyle MacLachlan. Looking forward to another great year, everybody!” Lorne placed his hands on the desk to indicate the end of the brief orientation meeting. Everyone began standing up, stretching, and milling about, hanging out in the hallway in clumps or drifting into their respective offices. Conan noticed the new writer shifting her eyes nervously back and forth between the faces. _What was her name again? D-something…_ She apparently decided against socializing, as he saw her scurry toward her office and shut the door behind her. Conan went back to joking around with Odenkirk, excited for the year to come.   
——

On Monday, Dawn got to the office relatively early to claim a spot on one of the couches. As the rest of the cast and writers filed in, many of the other women were whispering excitedly, already swooning over Kyle MacLachlan. Personally, Dawn didn’t see the appeal, but she liked his work. She was looking absently out the eighth floor window when she felt the cushion sag slightly beside her. Turning, she saw that it was that extremely tall, red-haired writer.   
Smiling, he extended a freckled hand. “Hey there, I’m Conan.”   
“Dawn. Hey,” she said, shaking it and noticing how her hand nearly disappeared in his own much larger one.  
“How are you liking it so far?” He asked, tilting his head.   
She shrugged. “Oh, you know…”  
“Oh, I certainly do,” he raised his eyebrows and nodded. “But try not to worry. It takes time, but you’ll get the swing of things. Any questions, don’t be afraid to ask. We’re all just a bunch of freaks here.” His face broke into a wide smile and Dawn couldn’t help but smile in response, despite her nerves.  
Just then, Lorne and Kyle MacLachlan came in. Lorne formally introduced him and the room applauded. The pitches began, starting with Head Writer Jim Downey. Obviously a lot of people were throwing out _Twin Peaks_ related ideas and as they went around the room Dawn could feel her heart hammering in her chest and sweat breaking out on her back. Before she knew it, she was next.  
“Hi, uh, Dawn Damel,” she introduced herself, swallowing. “So I was thinking of a _Blue Velvet_ type thing, where you’re in a field and you find an ear but it turns out it’s uh…attached to a whole homeless guy underneath the dirt that you end up getting in a fight with because he thinks you’re trespassing.” Much to her surprise the room broke out in a laugh and she felt her shoulders drop.   
As it dissipated, Conan leaned over quickly and whispered in her ear, “ _Nice job_ ,” his warm breath tickling her neck. She smiled and nodded appreciatively. Conan pitched next, and though his was also _Twin Peaks_ inspired, he had a unique take on it and she found herself laughing for the first time that day from something other than nerves. As the meeting drew to a close, everyone clapped and made their way out the door. They all knew many of the ideas that had been thrown out in the last hour would never be committed to paper – the pitch meeting was mostly a way to introduce yourself to the host, but now came the real test, the slog between the Monday pitch and the Wednesday table read when there was but one goal: write.  
—-

Dawn sat in her office and stared at the typewriter. One in the morning and three and a half pages in and she had to admit, she was stuck. She was writing the sketch with Carvey or Hartman in mind, but for the life of her she couldn’t see where to take it next. Finally surrendering to the fact that she couldn’t remain an island forever, she peeked out of her office and crept down the hall. Walking up to the door marked “Conan O’Brien,” she hesitated. _What if he’s trying to sleep? Or gets really upset when interrupted?_ She bit her lip and steeled her nerves. After all, going into the table read empty on her first week was not an option. She knocked.   
The squeak of a rolling chair. A couple muffled steps. A turning knob and there he was. “Hello,” he greeted her warmly. She wasn’t truly aware of how tall he was until she was standing in such close proximity to him. He positively towered over her, and she wasn’t a short woman.  
“Hey, so um…” she began, looking at her feet and fidgeting with the papers in her hands. “I don’t want to bother you, and if you’re too busy just tell me, but I’m working on this sketch and I uh…I don’t want to be any trouble, but you mentioned if I needed something and I, uh…”  
“Would you like some help?” Conan prompted. She looked up at his smiling face and nodded in relief. “Not a problem. Come on in.”  
“Thank you so much.” She followed him into the tiny office, a torn leather couch strewn with papers on one side and a similarly littered desk on the other with at least three coffee cups and various bric-a-brac. She noticed both an electric and acoustic guitar were tucked into the corner.  
“Oh just move any of that crap,” Conan said, gesturing to the couch. Delicately she slid enough of the papers to one side to make a spot to sit. “Alright, let me see what you have there,” he said extending an arm. Sheepishly she handed him her pages and his eyes raced over them. She swelled with joy when he broke out in what seemed to be genuine laughter, clutching his chest and leaning back in his chair. He got to the end and brought his index finger to his lip, holding it there while he thought.  
“What if…” he began, and she could see the wheels turning beneath his flaming red hair. “What if the homeless guy has his possessions buried all over the field, right? So he reaches into the dirt, grabs an old fashioned pistol, and challenges him to a duel?”  
Dawn laughed. “Yeah, yeah. And maybe, he needs a Second, so he pulls a whole other dude up out of the dirt.”  
Conan nodded, excited. “Yes! That’s great. And maybe that guy is really high-society, refined, compared to this trashy dude.” Dawn took notes on the pad she’d tucked into the pocket of her hoodie, scrawling fast as the ideas came to her.  
“I can help you write it up, if you want,” Conan offered.   
“That’d be great, thank you.”  
They spent the next couple of hours finishing and polishing her sketch. At around 2:30 a.m. Dawn stood up and unzipped her hoodie, tossing it on the arm of the couch. “Sorry, it’s kind of hot in here.” Conan looked up from the typewriter and his eyes widened. Up until this point he’d only seen her drowning in the fabric of that shapeless hoodie. But now she sat before him on his torn, stained couch in a white tank top and he saw that she had a beautiful body. Slender yet curvaceous, and as she leaned over to jot something down on her notepad which rested on the little coffee table he got a generous peek at her ample cleavage. Conan looked away, and felt his face grow warm, hoping she wouldn’t notice.  
When they pulled the final sheet out of the typewriter, Dawn felt relatively good about going into Wednesday.   
“Thank you so much, I really appreciate it.” She tossed her hoodie over one arm and stood to leave.  
“No problem,” Conan said, twisting in his swivel chair. “Hey, would you um, want to take a look at mine?” He held it out to her. “Could always use an extra pair of eyes.”  
She suspected he was just being nice so she wouldn’t feel silly for needing so much help on her first night, as she was doubtful someone this brilliant would benefit from her feedback.   
Resuming her place on the couch, she read over his pages, breaking out into laughter. Conan noticed that she laughed with her whole body, throwing her head back, mouth wide open. Some women tried to laugh in a “dainty” way and it always made him a little sad to see that restraint. Watching her let go completely, a tendril of hair falling loose as she got to the last page, was refreshing.  
“Amazing,” she said, handing it back to him. “I wouldn’t change a thing.”   
Conan gave a bashful smile. “Thanks. Here’s hoping.”  
Dawn nodded, standing and thanking him again before leaving his office. He noticed a trace of citrus on the air as she passed, and with a stretch he turned back to the typewriter.  
——

Conan chose a chair against the wall, Downey on his right, Smigel on his left, as the cast members gathered around the massive table in the center of the room. Everyone was chatting and laughing as the massive stack of nearly 40 sketches was handed out to each person. Conan noticed Dawn scooting into the room, choosing one of the free chairs near the doorway and began to flip through the stack to see where they’d placed her sketch in the order. Getting buried in the middle could mean a weaker reception, and he wanted her to have a fighting shot. “SEVERED EAR HOBO” stared up at him, sixth in the order, not bad. Eyes running down the page, he did a double take. _By Conan O’Brien and Dawn Damel_. He hadn’t expected to be given credit. And top billing? That was too generous. He looked over at her, but she seemed absorbed in a conversation with Bonnie Turner so he couldn’t catch her eye.   
Lorne came in with Kyle MacLachlan and they dug in, making their way through the sketches. Some killed, some died, and when it came time to read Dawn’s Conan found he was more nervous for her than he expected, but it got big laughs. Lorne, however, pointed out there might be some production issues with set creation and believably executing it on camera.   
After 20 or so sketches and two hours, they broke for intermission and Dawn, despite being near the doorway, found herself hanging back to catch Conan’s ear. She was pleasantly surprised when the lanky man sidled up next to her.   
“Well, that went pretty well, huh?” He smiled.  
She nodded. “Yeah, thanks again.” They began walking down the hallway, joining the queue for the coffee machine.   
“Yeah, um…” Conan looked at his feet. “That was really nice of you to put my name on it.”  
“Are you kidding?” Dawn reached out and placed a hand on his arm. Conan felt his skin tingle and his eyes slid nervously from side to side. “Of course I gave you credit! You helped me so much. Seriously.”  
Conan smirked. “Well, happy to do it.”  
They got their coffee and made their way back to the read room. Standing near the table, Dawn found herself watching his thin lips as he blew on the surface of his coffee and realized after a moment she was staring. Looking away, she wished it wouldn’t look odd to change seats halfway through the meeting.   
“Well, thanks again,” Dawn said, shifting her weight back and forth as people slipped in past the two of them. “Looks like yours is up next, good luck!”  
“Thank you,” Conan said, lifting his cup in mock cheers.   
Resuming their seats, Lorne opened Conan’s sketch and began reading the stage direction. It absolutely slaughtered. Kyle MacLachlan had tears in his eyes and as Dawn laughed she looked over at Conan, only to find his eyes met hers. Quickly she looked away, cheeks red. Conan’s sketch ended and there was no doubt in her mind it would be picked. As the rest of the read progressed, she fidgeted, doing her best not to glance in his direction, not wanting to get caught again. The read ended, and everyone made their way out. Tomorrow the board would determine their fate.  
——

From down the hall Conan could see the mass of writers standing before the infamous board, the tiny index cards pinned threateningly on its surface. He tossed his bag in his office and jogged down to join them. Even standing at the back of the group he could see clearly over their heads, and as he scanned the right side of the board he smiled when he saw his sketch made the cut. Peering closely, however, there was no mention of Dawn’s. Looking around the cluster he saw her up front and to the left. Conan circled around and crept up behind her. She looked let down.   
“Hey, don’t sweat it,” he said softly. Dawn turned around and saw Conan leaning over her shoulder, freckle faced and giving her a soft look. “It was a month before I got something through, and I’m still here,” he said. This wasn’t strictly true, but it made her smile, so he thought the white lie was worth it.  
“Plus,” he added, taking a couple of steps away from the group, glad when she followed him. “I really do think it was a production issue. Just hard to make it feasible, you know? Because it was really, really funny.”  
Dawn shrugged. “Yeah, maybe. Thank you. Well, no surprise yours is up there. I’d have placed money on that one.”  
Conan shook his head. “One thing you’ll learn. It’s not on the air until it’s on the air. It could easily get cut anytime. The oddest things will kill at the table read and then at dress rehearsal just…crickets,” he chuckled.  
She laughed. “Yeah, I suppose that’s true. But I really think you have it this time.”  
The way she looked at him, earnest and smiling, made him itchy all over. Conan looked at his sneakers and then flicked his eyes back up to hers. “Well…thanks. I appreciate it.”  
Dawn nodded. “Okay, well, I’ll see you around.” She gave a little wave and made her way back to her office. Conan did the same, finding himself wishing he could come up with an excuse to go talk to her.  
On Friday at the initial rehearsal, Conan stood by as Farley and MacLachlan were about to run his sketch for the first time.   
“Hey,” Dave said. “We don’t have an extra around to play this cop. Do you just wanna do it?” He pointed at Conan.  
Conan gestured to himself. “Me?”  
Dave nodded.  
Conan shrugged. “Sure, I guess.”   
He hopped onto the stage. His only job was to restrain Farley, but he soon found out that this new kid did not hold back. He was a bull that always went at 100 mph and though he was alarmed, he also found him hilarious.  
When Saturday rolled around, Conan found they decided to keep him in the sketch for the sake of convenience. Donning a police uniform and a black wig, he paced around backstage, waiting his turn and chatting with Odenkirk as the audience filed in for dress rehearsal.   
“Well, I gotta find Smigel, he owes me ten bucks,” Bob said. He clapped Conan on the shoulder and disappeared. Conan scratched his wig absently and peered out at the murmuring crowd from behind the curtain.   
“Hey,” a small voice said behind him.  
Turning around, Conan saw Dawn, overlarge sweatshirt purple this time and hair a pile on top of her head as per usual.   
“Hey, how’s it going?” He said.  
She nodded. “I’m okay,” she looked him up and down slowly, making his back sweat under his uniform. “Are you nervous?”  
Conan gave a half shrug. “Eh, not especially. I don’t have any lines and I’ve been out there before.”  
“Wow,” Dawn looked at him. “I’d be so nervous to go out there. You’re brave.”   
Conan smiled. “Thanks.”  
They were calling places. Conan gave his wig a quick once over.   
“Well, good luck,” Dawn said with a grin. She had the temptation to reach up and straighten his tie, even though it didn’t need it.  
“Thank you,” Conan walked out on stage and she found a place under the bleachers to watch the show.   
Things went smoothly, and as she expected, Conan’s sketch made it to air. Standing underneath the audience with the other writers, she was thankful none of them could hear her thoughts as she watched Conan perform in his sketch. Though his role was small, watching him standing there in a uniform, tall, strong, and authoritative was making her…tense.   
After the show wrapped, cast waving to the audience from the stage, Conan was backstage changing into his jeans and a baseball t-shirt. Peeling off the wig and scrubbing the makeup from his face, he emerged from his dressing room and ran into Carvey.  
“Hey, man,” Dana said. “We’re hitting John’s for karaoke. You in?”  
Conan nodded. “For sure. I’ll meet you there.”   
He strode down the hall, hoping she hadn’t gone home already. The door to her office was open. Empty. Turning the corner to the kitchen he found her bent over the water cooler.  
“Hey,” Conan said. Dawn noticed his smiling face was slightly red, which served only to highlight just how blue his eyes truly were.  
“Hey, good job,” she said, taking a sip.  
“Ha, yes, I truly am talented when it comes to standing and holding a man’s arm.”  
Dawn laughed, nearly choking on her water.  
“Hey so, we’re all going out for karaoke. Do you want to come?” Conan said it freely, but after the words came out of his mouth he grew nervous. _It’s not like you’re asking her out. Everyone will be there. But still…_  
Dawn nodded. “Yeah, definitely!”  
“Great, it’s this place John’s? Just a hole in the wall, really, but it’s close by and the drinks are cheap.”  
“Sounds great,” Dawn smiled, finishing her water and tossing the cup.  
Conan fidgeted with his fingers at his side. “So, uh…do you want to walk there together?”  
Dawn’s eyes flicked up to his and she gave a sheepish grin. ”Yeah, sure. Ready whenever you are.”   
Conan nodded and they headed to the elevator. When they exited Rockefeller Plaza they were greeted by pleasant autumn air. Dawn found she had to quicken her pace to keep up with his long, bouncing strides as they walked the two blocks to the bar.  
“So, are you going to sing anything?” She asked, raising her voice a little so he could hear her over a passing siren.  
Conan shrugged. “Oh, maybe. I really prefer to play my own music if I’m going to be singing, but I don’t mind if the occasion calls for it.”   
“Yeah, I noticed the guitars in your office. Do you really play in there?”  
Conan chuckled. “Oh, all the time,” he said. “Those who share walls with me hate it. But it relaxes me and helps me think.”  
Dawn laughed. “You think they’d like the free entertainment. I don’t think I’d mind.”  
Conan smiled. “Well, you’d definitely be in the minority there. Are you going to sing something?”  
“Oh my, I don’t think so…” Dawn said. “I mean, I enjoy singing and all, but I have pretty bad stage fright.”  
“Aw, that’s too bad,” Conan said. “I hope you’ll give it a shot sometime.”   
They rolled up to John’s and he held the door open for her. Dawn walked into the dark, smoky bar and immediately spotted the SNL crowd. It wasn’t difficult – the place was so small they took up half of the room. Mike Meyers and Kevin Nealon were belting out a tune she wasn’t familiar with and everyone was milling about amiably.   
Conan followed her to the bar. “Can I buy you a drink?”   
Dawn shrugged shyly. “Sure, thank you.”  
“What’ll you have?”   
“Guinness, please.”  
Conan’s face broke into a smile. “A woman after my own heart.”  
Dawn blushed furiously, glad Conan was turned away and motioning to the bartender. He retrieved their drinks and handed it to her. Clinking their pints together lightly, she sipped underneath the foam, the way his blue eyes peeked at her over the rim of his glass making her tingle.  
“Hang on, I’ll be right back,” Conan said, setting down his beer. She saw him weave his way toward the tiny stage to write his name down on the karaoke book. Victoria Jackson was up at the moment, and Conan slipped back to his stool.  
“So, how long have you been in New York?” He asked.  
“Oh, just about four months,” Dawn took a sip. “Came out here from Wisconsin after I submitted my packet and got the job.”  
“Wow, Wisconsin? Big culture shock.”  
She nodded. “You’re telling me. Still getting used to things. It’s in my midwestern sensibility to apologize for everything, not just give the finger like they do here.” Conan chuckled. “How about you? How long have you been here?”  
Conan swallowed another gulp of Guinness before responding. “I started at SNL in ’87, came out here from LA. But originally I’m from Massachusetts.”  
“Oh yeah? Do you get home pretty often then?” She asked.  
“With our schedule? Are you kidding?” Conan laughed. “I barely see the apartment I have here. But during the summer break, sure, I go as often as I can.”  
Dawn chuckled. “Yeah, I’m learning fast how to sleep in uncomfortable positions in my office.”  
Nodding knowingly, Conan held up a hand. “Trust me, after the first year you’ll be able to sleep standing up.”  
Just then Conan’s name was called over the microphone.   
“Oops, my turn. Back in a few,” he said, taking one last drink and giving a small wave.  
Dawn’s eyes followed him as he made his way to the stage. The music began and she instantly recognized it as Elvis’s _Jailhouse Rock_. Conan launched into the song and her mouth fell open. Based on his speaking voice, she would not have guessed he’d be able to sing like that. Raw, gritty, and sexy, he gripped the microphone hard with both hands, eyes closed, practically screaming at some points but always on key. And to top it all off, he was a natural performer. Radiating charisma, the way his body moved in time with the music was mesmerizing, shaking his fluffy orange hair back and forth, she could only imagine how much more impressive he’d be with a guitar slung about his slender body.  
The song ended and everyone clapped. Conan made his way back to the bar, panting slightly, and held up a finger to order another beer.  
“Wow,” Dawn said when he sat on the stool and turned to face her. “You were amazing.”  
Conan shrugged, but smiled. “Aw, I don’t know. Mostly I just like to be silly up there.”  
Dawn reached out, her hand landing delicately on his knee. “No,” she said, eyes intently meeting his. “You are really good.”  
Conan swallowed hard. “Th-thank you.” She withdrew her hand and he saw her eyes shift from side to side.   
“So, um…” Conan cleared his throat. “How are you feeling about Susan Lucci next week?”  
Dawn finished her beer and held out her hand for another. “Oh, nervous of course. A couple of ideas floating around, but nothing I’m super confident in. You?”  
“Same. I think that’s just a permanent state of being around here.”  
“Well, that makes me feel better, thank you.”  
Conan smiled.   
They spent the next couple of hours talking and laughing, various members of the group getting up to sing, and even a couple of folks obviously having a few too many drinks.  
At 3:45 a.m. the bar lights flashed, and Dawn and Conan stood up to leave.   
“Well, that was fun, thanks for the invite,” she said.  
“Oh, of course, no problem,” Conan replied, awkwardly rocking back and forth on the pavement.   
Dawn shoved her hands in her pockets. “Well, I’m going to catch a cab…did you wanna share one?”  
“I-I’m close enough to walk, actually,” Conan replied.  
“Oh, okay then.” Dawn looked at her feet for a second before stepping to the curb and raising her arm. Within a minute a taxi swerved alongside. “Well, thanks again. I had a good time.” She looked at him.  
_Kiss her. Just kiss her._ Conan told himself, standing in front of her while the cabbie waited. “Yeah, me too…See you Monday, then.” Chickening out, he chewed on his lip, and watched her pause for half a second before she opened the door, climbed in, and pulled away. _Damn_.  
——  
Monday afternoon, Conan walked into his office and looked around. _Damn, what am I, a feral mongoose?_ He spent the better part of an hour cleaning up, finally dubbing it good enough around 1:30. Walking down the hall, he noticed Dawn’s office door was slightly ajar with the light on and he tapped lightly.  
“Come in,” her voice chimed.  
Conan’s smiling face appeared. “Hey.”  
“Hey, what’s up?” She swiveled to face him.  
“So, uh…” he began, running his tongue over his lips. “I have a nugget of an idea for Lucci. And I was wondering if um, would you wanna pitch together this week?”  
Dawn’s eyes widened, caught off guard. “Oh really? I mean, yeah, sure, that’d be great. Why don’t you come in and tell me about it?”  
Conan entered her office and looked around. It couldn’t be more different from his own. Meticulous, everything in its place, with a large calendar and dry erase board mounted on the wall with neat handwriting and tick boxes. He sat on her couch, noticing she was lucky enough to get one of the only mildly stained ones, and explained his idea. Dawn laughed and they began jotting down notes.  
Sitting next to each other during the pitch meeting, she let Conan do the talking.  
“So we were thinking a spin on your impassioned chapel speech from _All My Children_ about Bianca, but instead you’re traveling and you lose your luggage, and so you plead with God about all of your missing personal items.”  
This garnered a healthy laugh from the room, and when they wrapped up the meeting, Dawn followed Conan back to his office. They started to write out the beginnings of the sketch, and Susan Lucci came to meet with them, helping to mimic the dialogue of her original speech accurately, as she remembered the lines.   
It was about 11 p.m. when they thought they had their final draft.   
“Okay, should we read through it?” Conan asked.  
Dawn nodded, sitting across from him in a black t-shirt and jeans, her hoodie abandoned hours before. “Sure.”  
Conan came to join her on the couch so they could both see the paper. “Alright, I’m going to read for Susan, you read for Phil.”  
She burst out laughing. “Okay then, let’s go.”  
They launched into the sketch and Conan performed in such an over the top Soap Opera drama-damsel voice that Dawn could barely read one sentence without cracking up. She did a deep silly-suave man voice for her part, and soon they were howling with glee. A particularly funny delivery on Conan’s part caused Dawn to fall against him in laughter, and as their chuckles died and they wiped their tears away, their eyes met.   
Suddenly it wasn’t funny anymore. Conan’s gaze flicked quickly back and forth between her emerald eyes and her lush, pink lips. Leaning forward, their lips met, pressing gently for a moment before Dawn parted hers and snaked her tongue into his mouth, encouraging his own. Conan’s hand found her waist and he felt her fingers climb their way up his chest, past his neck, only to bury themselves in the hair at the back of his head. Intensity increasing, Conan’s hands rubbed her back, drawing her near and she draped one leg across his lap. Conan brought one hand around, sliding it up to cup her breast over her shirt.  
“Wait-“ she said.  
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” he said, instantly pulling his hand away as though he touched a hot stove.  
Dawn chuckled. “Oh no, not that. The door. Is it locked?”  
“Oh shit, right,” Conan breathed a sigh of relief, hopped up, locked the door, and joined her back on the couch. Eagerly Dawn drew him towards herself, mouths resuming their pleasant rhythm. She laid down, scooting as far back as the tiny couch would allow, and Conan followed, the pressure of his thin body on top of her. Once again he slid his hands up to her breasts, and Dawn assisted him by reaching back and undoing the clasp on her bra, pulling it out of her sleeve. Conan slid a hand underneath her t-shirt, one high-note of pleasure escaping his nose as he caressed her body. Dawn raised her hips to meet his own, she could feel his erection pressing into her and she was growing wet and anxious with the layers of denim between them. Sneaking her hand down, she palmed the outline of his cock over his jeans and his mouth fell open over her own.  
She tugged on him lightly. “ _Conan, I want you_.”  
He just nodded, shuddering. He sat back and unzipped her jeans, while she sat up and did the same, the two of them stealing kisses in between the hurried actions of their hands. Awkwardly they both stood up to remove their pants, and Conan looked at her hesitantly before hooking his thumbs underneath the hem of his boxers and pushing them to the floor. They pulled off their shirts, tossing them aside, and then they were both standing there in his office, naked.   
Conan glanced briefly at the door, then back at Dawn. Approaching him, she ran her hands up his abdomen and down his arms, gently grazing his hard cock with her fingers before putting her arms around his neck and drawing his mouth back to hers. Making their way back to the couch, Conan slid his hand between her thighs and let out a low groan at the wetness he found. Stroking her gently with one hand, the other ensconced in her hair, Conan kissed her deeply, but soon Dawn was panting open mouthed into his own as his fingers danced around the pearl of her sex. Clapping a hand over her own mouth to silence her moans, she rocked herself into his hand, shuddering as she came around his fiddling fingers.   
When she was confident she could be silent, she removed her hand and opened her eyes. Conan was poised over her, flushed and lovely. Reaching down, she encircled his cock with her hand, pumping lightly. “ _I want you to fuck me_ ,” she breathed.  
Conan let out a deep breath. “I um…I don’t have any condoms here.”  
“I’m on the pill.”  
Conan nodded and adjusted himself over her. The couch was frightfully small for one average-sized person, much less two, especially when one of them was as long as he was. One of his legs trailed on the floor as he positioned his cock at her opening.   
“Ready?” He asked. Dawn nodded. Conan slid slowly inside and gasped at the pressure, his back arching. He gave himself a moment to get used to the sensation before withdrawing slowly and entering her again. Soon, their hips were swirling together while Conan rubbed his thumb against her clit in time with their movements. They kissed frantically, gasping against one another as they accelerated.   
“ _Oh Conan, fuck, fuck_!” Dawn gasped before once again covering her own mouth to stifle the outpouring of sound. Conan buried his face in her neck, moaning against her flesh as his orgasm tore through him, thrusting deep inside and deflating on top of her.  
Dawn held Conan inside of her for a moment, pressing soft kisses to his sweaty face before they unraveled.   
“Well, that was great,” Dawn said as they sat up.  
Conan brushed back his orange hair, now partially slick with sweat. “Yeah it was. Never thought something like that would happen in here,” he said, looking around his office.  
“Oh yeah?” Dawn said, picking up her underwear and pulling them back on. “I kind of doubt we’re the first ones to have sex in these offices.”  
Conan tilted his head. “I suppose you’re right. But if you’d told me I’d be having sex at work, I would’ve had you committed.”  
Dawn had hooked her bra back on and was now pulling on her jeans. “Why? Don’t you know how sexy you are?”  
Conan just laughed as he zipped up his jeans and sat back down. “Oh yeah, real leading man material, the ginger stork over here.”  
“Hey,” Dawn said softly, coming over to straddle him. “I mean it. You’re incredibly sexy.” She gave him a slow kiss before standing back up to find her shirt.  
Conan just smiled, figuring it would be rude to argue. He pulled his own shirt on and looked around the room.   
“Hey, so I guess we finished the sketch…” he began.  
“Yeah…” Dawn replied.  
“So do you, um…” Conan rubbed the back of his neck. “Want to come home with me?”  
Dawn smiled. “I was hoping you’d ask.”   
They gathered up their things and made their way to the elevator. It was a short four block walk to his building. As they made their way up the stairs, he was afraid she’d be scared away by the state of his apartment and was trying to remember just how bad it was when he left that morning.  
“Sorry about the mess,” he muttered as he opened the door.  
“Don’t worry about it,” Dawn said with a wave of her hand. She took off her shoes and her hoodie, tossing it on the arm of the couch.   
“I don’t know about you, but I’m exhausted,” Conan said around a yawn.  
Dawn nodded. “Me too. Bed?”   
Conan gestured to his room and she followed him. He cleared off the couple of items of dirty clothes that were on top of his blanket, apologizing, and they both took off their jeans and crawled under the covers. Dawn reached under her shirt to remove her bra and flicked it across the room to an already clothes-laden chair before leaning over to give him a kiss.  
“Goodnight,” she said softly.  
“Goodnight,” Conan smiled.   
Dawn turned her back to him and he put his arm around her, drawing her body into his own and nuzzling his face into the back of her neck. They fell asleep almost instantly, adrift on dreams filled with laughter.


	2. 2

Blinking against the sunlight streaming through the window, Dawn held up a hand to shield her eyes. It was a moment before she realized where she was, and when she looked down and saw the long, pale freckled arm draped across her midsection she remembered and smiled. She could hear Conan’s soft, low breathing behind her and craning her neck she saw him asleep, mouth half open, face looking serene, young, and innocent. This was contrasted, however, by his morning erection pressing against her ass.   
Scooting back slowly, she wiggled herself against him, rubbing gently up and down. His hand twitched in the air, his hips starting to press forth of their own volition, followed by a snort and a sleepy “ _Whu_ —?,” before he woke up and realized what was happening.  
“Good morning,” Dawn giggled.  
Conan drew her close, his front against her back, and she turned her neck to kiss him. “Good morning,” he said. His hand trailing down to gently cup her breast.  
“Mmmm…Sunday,” she purred against his mouth, turning over to face him.   
Conan nodded, sliding his body between her legs, delighted at the warmth radiating from her even through their underwear. “Any plans today?”   
Dawn shook her head. “Nope. All yours.”  
“Oh yeah?” Conan smiled. “Any ideas on how we should spend the time?” He asked, gently rocking his hips to and fro.  
Pushing herself up to meet him, eager for friction, Dawn kissed him again. “Maybe one or two…”  
They kissed while their hands roamed, exploring one another’s bodies languidly. Conan reached a hand down to grasp the hem of her shirt, and she sat up slightly so he could pull it over her head, doing the same to his own. Massaging her breasts, he continued to grind his cock into her, bearing down harder, her underwear wet and clinging between them. Pulling back, Conan took them off, and starting at her neck he kissed his way down her flushed body, taking his time before reaching her thighs. He parted her legs, running his nose along her slit before pressing gentle kisses to her lips. Parting her with two fingers, he began gently lapping, teasing on either side of her clit, but not applying direct contact yet. Dawn was breathing hard, eyes closed, as Conan’s lovely thin lips encircled her clit, tickling her with the very tip of his tongue at first before resuming his lapping. Moaning now, Dawn found herself easing her lips toward his mouth, anxious for his talented tongue. When Conan dove in and began sucking on her clit, her back arched and her fingers dug into his hair.   
“ _Conan, yes! Don’t stop, FUCK!_ ” She screamed, shamelessly grinding into his face. Conan noticed the intense pressure of her fingers on his scalp, but he didn’t mind. He was grateful they were in his bed instead of in the office. The sounds of her arousal, his name pouring from her lips, was getting him excited and it took all his restraint not to touch his aching cock.  
Dawn let out one last high note, body shuddering violently, and her arms fell limp at her sides. Conan emerged, wiping his face on his arm, and kissed his way back up her body before peering into her face. Eyelids heavy, Dawn looked up at him and kissed him, reaching down to touch his cock.   
“ _I want you inside me_ ,” she whispered.  
Conan’s tongue flicked over his lips and he positioned himself at her entrance, glancing up at her for a moment and exchanging a nod before entering her. Inadvertently he let out a deep groan as the pressure encircled him. Withdrawing slightly before entering even deeper, Conan leaned forward and their mouths met, and soon they were in a gentle rolling rhythm, hips undulating and hands grasping. Conan slid his hand between them, using his thumb to stimulate her clit, and he noticed Dawn’s hips began to rock with renewed intensity and her kissing lost its structure as she moaned and swore against his lips. Conan could feel her tightening around him from the inside, and he could barely hold on, so he rubbed quickly with his thumb, causing a tremor to erupt within her. Conan let out a broken gasping moan, thrusting a final few times as he came inside, falling on top of her with his face buried in her mass of hair, breathing hard.  
Dawn held him inside of herself for a moment, turning to press a kiss to his temple, before unraveling her legs. They rolled apart and flopped on their backs for a bit to cool down before turning to face one another, smiling.  
Conan leaned up on one arm to see the bedside clock over her head. Almost 1 p.m. “Hungry?” He asked. She nodded. “Okay, well, I don’t really have anything fit for human consumption here. Want to just order in?”  
“Sure,” Dawn said.   
“Preference?”  
She shrugged. “I’m okay with anything, really.”  
Conan contemplated for a moment. “Have you had Ming’s? I know Chinese for breakfast probably isn’t the best but...we’re comedy writers, it’s basically in the manual.”  
She smiled. “Sounds great.”  
Conan stood up, grabbing a fresh pair of boxers and a t-shirt, and went into the living room to call. Dawn stretched leisurely before getting up and finding her underwear and t-shirt. Padding into the living room after him, she caught him just hanging up the phone.   
“Hey, would you mind if I took a shower?” She asked.  
“Sure, no problem.”  
“Could I borrow some clothes? If it’s not too much trouble.”   
Conan smiled. “Of course.”  
Following him to his closet, Conan extracted a t-shirt and a pair of stretchy gym shorts, then he led her to the bathroom, grabbing her a towel.  
Conan flopped down on the couch and flipped on the tv for a few minutes, hearing the running water in the background. Just then, the phone rang.   
“Hello?” He answered.  
“Hey man, it’s Neal,” the voice of his brother came over the line.  
“Oh hey,” Conan replied, cradling the phone next to his ear. “How are you doing?”  
“Oh, pretty good. Just wanted to call and say I saw you on the show last night.”  
Conan chuckled. “Oh yeah, that’s right.”  
“You did a great job.”  
“I didn’t do anything,” Conan laughed.  
“Aw, but still. Proud of you, man,” Neal said warmly.  
“Thanks, Neal. I appreciate it.”  
“Hey Conan, I grabbed a wash cloth out of the closet, I hope you don’t mind,” Dawn’s voice called out as she entered the room. Conan spun around, clamping his hand over the receiver, but it was too late.  
“Did I just hear a _girl_?” Neal’s voice jeered.  
Conan closed his eyes. “Shut. Up. Neal.”  
Neal laughed on the other line. “Well, I guess I should let you go then. Have _fun_.”  
They said goodbye and Conan groaned internally. He knew all too well that it was only a matter of time before Neal told the whole family.  
“Everything okay?” Dawn asked, looking at his perturbed face.   
Conan nodded. “Yeah, yeah. That was just my brother, Neal. Calling to say he saw me on the show last night.” Dawn smiled. “Well, I’m going to hop in the shower, hold on-“ Conan ran into the bedroom, picked up his jeans, fishing out his wallet.   
“Here,” he said, handing her a twenty. “If the Chinese comes while I’m in there.”  
Conan disappeared to the shower and Dawn looked around the apartment. He had a couple of overflowing bookshelves, stacked with classics like O’Connor and Faulkner as well as some sillier stuff like Douglas Adams. She peeked in the fridge, and aside from a smattering of condiments and a couple of half-finished take out containers, there truly was nothing to be seen. But his couch looked comfortable and all in all the place was cozy.  
The food arrived and Dawn was removing the containers from the bag when Conan emerged, hair slicked back and skin pink. It was a stark contrast from his usual fluffy haired image and she found it intensely sexy. Giving her a quick kiss as he passed, Conan took out plates and forks and they sat down at the table to eat.   
They munched silently for a while, both of them just now realizing how truly hungry they were before Conan spoke up. “So, do you I feel like you’re starting to settle in a bit? You know, at the show?”   
Dawn held out a hand, teetering it back and forth. “I don’t know, it’s hard, you know? I feel kind of…constantly off-kilter.”  
Conan nodded, smiling and chewing. “Yeah, unfortunately that…that doesn’t really go away. I spent so much time my first couple of years convinced I’d be fired at any moment. Honestly, it still creeps up once in a while.”  
“Good to know,” Dawn said. “But at the same time, it’s exciting. I really never could’ve imagined I’d be here.”  
Conan shook his head. “Same here. Some days before work I just stare up at the building and still can’t believe it.”   
Dawn nodded, plucking a dumpling from one of the containers.  
“So,” Conan said. “What do you usually do on your Sundays?”  
“You mean when I’m not being seduced by lanky comedy writers?” Dawn winked at him.  
Conan chuckled. “Yeah, apart from that.”  
“Well, I spend a lot of time reading, and usually boring stuff like running errands, but a handful of times I’ve gone out dancing on Saturday nights and that’s been great.”  
“Dancing? Really?” Conan asked.  
Dawn nodded. “Oh yeah, I love to dance.”  
“Who do you go with?” He asked, realizing after he said it that it was a somewhat intrusive question. “I mean, have you made some friends since you got here?”  
“Oh, so far I’ve just gone alone. To the gay clubs, mostly. It’s fantastic. Such a great atmosphere.”  
“I bet.”  
“You should come sometime,” she smiled at him.  
Conan shook his head. “Oh no, I don’t dance. These limbs flailing around? I look like one of those inflatable tube guys outside of a car dealership.”  
“Aw, I bet you’re better than you think.” Dawn laughed. “How about you? What do you do with your days off?”  
“Read a lot too, but sometimes if I can catch a good band or movie I’ll go do that. But honestly, I don’t get out too much.” He chomped down on a piece of broccoli and took a moment to chew and swallow. “It’s better than the first year at the show though. I hardly saw anything other than my apartment and my office.”  
“I believe it,” Dawn nodded. They finished eating, cleaning up and pushing in their chairs. Dawn followed Conan to the couch, He sat on one side, long legs balanced on the coffee table, and she draped herself across the remaining space, her legs across his lap. Absently he stroked her shins as he flipped through the channels. Landing on a repeat of _Unsolved Mysteries_ he looked to her and raised an eyebrow. She nodded, smiled, and he did the same.   
Settling in, they watched, Conan’s fingers making small patterns on her skin as the true crime played out on the screen. Dawn felt incredibly content, and she was surprised at how comfortable and casual it felt, sprawled there on his couch, the Fall sun speckling the floorboards as they sat together in amiable silence. The episode ended and another began. Briefly they were interrupted when the phone rang and another one of Conan’s siblings called to congratulate him on his appearance on the show. Turning off the ringer afterwards so they wouldn’t be disturbed again, Conan returned to the couch.  
After watching the show for a while, Dawn looked away from the screen and turned to Conan. He had his elbow propped up on the arm of the couch and his face was leaning against his fist, seemingly deep in concentration. She admired his prominent cheekbones, the curve of his lips, the sharp jawline. It was a couple of moments before he felt her looking at him.  
“What?” He asked, smirking.  
She shrugged, smiled. “Nothing.” She tickled him with her toes a little and turned back to the show, but about halfway through she found her eyes drifting back to him.   
“ _What_?” He giggled.  
She smiled, spinning to face him and crawling to his side of the couch. Bringing her face close, Dawn pressed a kiss to the spot below his ear, inhaling his fresh scent, nuzzling and kissing his neck. Conan turned and joined her mouth with his, tongue peeking through his lips to court her own. Dawn placed her hand on his thigh, creeping up to the waistband of his boxers as their tongues slid back and forth, and slid her hand inside, palming his cock. Conan reached over and rubbed her breast through her shirt, dexterous fingers strong and agile. Growing hard, she pulled him free, and separating from him she kissed her way down his neck before taking the tip of his cock into her mouth and circling it with her tongue.  
“Oh, _oh_ …” Conan gasped, his head falling back against the couch as she began to suck, one hand working the shaft as the other fondled his balls, she bobbed up and down and Conan breathed hard. Removing her hand, she took him deeper into her throat, and began to hum and moan around his cock. Conan could feel the reverberations penetrating his flesh and small, high moans started to tumble from his lips unintentionally as his hips tipped forward to meet her mouth. Dawn pulled off for a moment to suck on his balls and rub the sensitive frenulum.  
“ _I want you to cum in my mouth_ ,” she breathed.  
Conan just nodded and groaned in assent, unable to formulate words as she resumed sucking, increasing speed and focusing on the tip. Thrusting wildly into her, Conan whined and buried his hands in her hair, cum shooting against the back of her willing tongue as his body surrendered.  
Dawn slowly extracted herself and it was a moment before Conan could open his eyes. Replacing himself in his boxers, he turned to face Dawn who was curling up next to him.   
“Wow, that was amazing,” he said, drawing her near and giving her a kiss.  
She smiled. “I couldn’t resist. You just looked so sexy.”  
Conan chuckled and shook his head, kissing her again. Pulling her across the couch so she was laying on her back over him, he leaned down to resume their kissing, burrowing his right hand in her hair while the left crawled under her shirt and cupped her breasts. Trailing his fingers slowly over her stomach, he continued to kiss her passionately as his fingers found their way between her thighs, discovering she was wet and ready. Stroking and pressing, he worked away at her until her pelvis was rocking beneath his hand and gentle moans dropped from her lips. Lifting and adjusting her so he could get a better angle, he lowered her shorts and put his index and middle fingers deep inside of her, curving them upward and pulsing while he used his thumb to rub her clit. Back arching, eyes rolling, Dawn’s mouth opened silently as one of her hands pounded the side of the couch like a wrestler begging to be let up from a hold. Voice returning in a scream, her body shook intensely.  
“ _Conan, fuck, yeah, YES_!” She gasped as she writhed up and down, fucking herself on his hand. Conan hit her g-spot harder and faster and leaned down, replacing his thumb with his mouth and sucked on her clit. Another orgasm crashed through her, and one stuttering foot knocked a stack of papers off of the coffee table as her body lost control. Slowly Conan withdrew, kissing his way up her body before stopping at her neck, then gently stroking her face with his nose.   
Dawn was attempting to catch her breath. “Well done,” she murmured, raising a shaky hand and placing it on Conan’s head.   
He smiled against her neck. “Glad you enjoyed it.”  
“You think?” She chuckled.  
Conan laughed. They laid there holding one another for awhile when Conan started to notice his eyes growing heavy.   
“Bed?” He asked. Dawn nodded. They got up and shuffled to the bedroom, crawling under the blankets and snuggling together.   
They fell asleep, and when they woke up it was almost 8:00 p.m. Dawn stretched luxuriously and tumbled out of bed, going to the restroom. When she emerged she found Conan in the kitchen drinking a glass of water.   
Walking up to him, she placed her arms around his neck. “Well, unfortunately I think I’d better head back to my place. If I go in tomorrow in the same clothes, there might be some questions.”  
“Yeah, that’s true,” Conan chuckled, softly rubbing her waist. “People might talk.”  
“About that…” she began. “I don’t want you to think I’m embarrassed or ashamed or anything, I’m definitely not, I think you’re amazing, but would you be okay if we kept things quiet? Being new and all I just don’t want people to get the wrong idea that I might be, you know, trying to…sleep my way into a more comfortable position…”  
“Now hold on,” Conan removed his hands and took a step back. “Are you telling me this _isn’t_ a straightforward business transaction? Now I feel dirty…”  
Dawn laughed and pinched him.   
“Just kidding,’ Conan said. “Yeah, I get that. No problem.”  
Dawn thanked him and retreated to the bedroom to put her own clothes back on, she returned and Conan pulled her in, kissing her once more.   
“I had a really great time,” he said, his forehead pressed against her own.  
“Me too.”  
Softly he rocked her back and forth. “See you tomorrow?”  
She nodded, causing both of their heads to move up and down. They separated bodies, arms still trailing together as she opened the door and they said goodbye. During the cab ride home, Dawn reflected on the previous evening and found she couldn’t stop smiling.  
—-

Once again, Dawn got to pitch early to claim a couch and was grateful when Conan’s beaming face popped into the room. He sat down next to her, sporting a denim jacket and running a hand casually through his fluffy hair, and the inappropriate urge to reach out and touch him was almost overwhelming.  
“Afternoon,” he said cheerily.  
“Hey, how’s it going?” She asked, smiling.  
Conan nodded. “Doing well, you?”  
“Same.” They held eye contact for a while and Dawn fought to break it as she noticed the room grow crowded.   
Conan did his best to focus. George Steinbrenner was hosting this week, and when he and Lorne walked in the pitches were of course largely baseball themed, but Conan didn’t hear half of them. He was focused on the feeling of Dawn’s thigh next to his, the gentle pressure of her shoulder against his own, every point of contact tempting. When his turn came he tossed out a mostly bullshit pitch that would probably never get written, but it got a decent enough laugh, so he was satisfied.   
When the meeting was over, they all clumped together to leave the office, many of them lining up to get coffee. Dawn could feel Conan standing behind her and it made the hair on the back of her neck stand up. Tipping sugar into her cup and making her way down the hall, he walked behind her.  
Conan cleared his throat. “Hey Dawn, could I ask you a question about that Steinbrenner sketch?” He tried to say casually, stirring his coffee.   
Turning around, she nodded. “Sure.”  
Conan gestured for her to follow him into his office, and he closed the door behind them. Taking her cup from her hand and setting it on the desk along with his own, he turned around, swooping her into his arms and kissing her, humming delightedly.  
“Hi there,” she smiled against his mouth.  
“Hey,” he rubbed her back, slowly rotating her on the spot. “Missed you.”  
She nodded. “Me too.”  
Conan kissed her again and she put one hand on the back of his neck, the other burying itself in his hair. Hand trailing down to her ass, Conan squeezed and she lifted one leg, wrapping it around his waist. Breaking the kiss for a moment, Conan turned and locked the door before placing his large hands under her thighs and lifting her. Dawn wrapped her legs around his slender hips, amazed at his strength as he carried her across the office, sitting down with her on top of him on the couch.   
“We really shouldn’t make a habit of fucking at work,” Dawn murmured, her hips slowly rotating above him.  
“Mmhmm…” Conan replied, lifting her hoodie overhead and tossing it aside before reaching back to unhook her bra, which she promptly pulled out of her sleeve. Dawn encouraged him to lean forward and they both took off his denim jacket. He reached bo hands under her shirt, caressing her breasts and pushing them together gently before pulling her body close, fingers flowing over her skin. Dawn stood up and took off her jeans, kicking them aside followed by her underwear. Leaning down she undid the button and fly on Conan’s jeans and he sat up slightly so she could work them down to his ankles along with his boxers, exposing his erect cock.   
Dawn climbed back on top, kissing him feverishly as she ran her hands over his chest, arms, and shoulders, all the while grinding herself against him. Reaching between them, Dawn positioned his cock at her opening, slick as she rubbed back and forth a couple of times before sinking down, a quiet groan coming from her chest.  
Rocking back and forth, they kissed and gathered speed, Conan panting hard, back sweating against the couch and hips hammering up into her, warm and wet. He put a hand between them and fingered her clit, rubbing frantically. Dawn ground hard, using her knees and thighs to propel herself up and down on his massive cock, she could feel the threat of her orgasm approaching and she covered her mouth, burying her face in his neck, bouncing and shaking.   
Conan felt her tighten around him and he was so close. Digging his fingers into her hips, he held her and pounded, head thrown back and mouth agape, gasping her name as quietly as possible with eyes clenched tight while the final waves of lust overtook him.  
Still straddling him, Conan rubbed her back gently while they held one another. Eventually Dawn dismounted and they dressed, doing their best to make themselves presentable.   
“Well, I guess I should get to work,” Dawn said. There was a silly part of her that wanted to hang out in his office all day, just talking, laughing, and fooling around. But she knew that wasn’t realistic.  
“Yeah, yeah, me too. I honestly got nothing for Steinbrenner.”  
Dawn rolled her eyes. “You’re telling me.”  
They kissed and said their goodbyes, setting out for yet another day of writing.


	3. 3

Dawn ended up working on a Convenience Store sketch with David Spade and Bonnie Turner, and by the end of it she was quite pleased with what they’d produced.  
For his part, Conan and Nealon came up with a solid piece about Steinbrenner involving a dream sequence. Meeting with Steinbrenner was a somewhat awkward experience. Not unexpected considering he wasn’t a comedy guy or even a performer, but Conan hoped he’d be able to at least carry the material convincingly on camera. You never knew with some hosts.  
At around 11:30 p.m. he packed up his bag and went down the hall. Dawn’s door was closed. He looked around and didn’t see anyone lurking, and lifted his hand to knock.   
“Come in,” she called.  
“Hey there,” Conan said.   
She swiveled around and smiled at him, seeing his bag slung over his shoulder. “Hey, all done for the day?”  
He nodded. “Yup, how’re you shaping up?”  
“Just polishing these last two pages,” she said. “Come on in.” Conan entered, closing the door behind him and flopping on the couch.  
“It won’t take me long, then we can go,” she said. Conan watched her type, fingers flying and eyes squinting from time to time. Once in a while she would freeze and stare for as much as 15 seconds, and he fought the urge to laugh and interrupt her concentration.  
“There we go,” she pulled the final page free. “Alright, wanna go to my place?” Conan nodded approvingly and stood up to follow her out.  
As they climbed into a cab, Dawn looked around furtively, but didn’t suuee any of her coworkers lurking about. When they arrived at her place, they walked in and she tossed her bag and hoodie on a kitchen chair.   
“Well, here we are,” she said. “It’s not much, but I like it here so far.”  
Conan looked around. Much like her office, Dawn’s apartment was exceptionally neat. Though the kitchen was small, there seemed to be an awful lot of tools and appliances, many of which he couldn’t even name. Strolling into the living room, he glanced up and down her massive bookshelves.  
“Wow, lot of psychology textbooks,” he said.  
“Ah, yeah,” Dawn replied. “That was my major at UW-Madison. Surprisingly, I do end up cracking them open from time to time, so I’ve held on to them.” She pulled a glass down from the cupboard. “Hey, do you want some water?”  
Conan nodded, and a moment later she brought him a glass.  
“Where did you go to school?” She asked.  
Conan hesitated for a moment. “Uh…Harvard.”  
“Seriously?” She asked, raising an eyebrow.  
Conan nodded, wincing. “It’s not a big deal…”  
She tilted her head, impressed. “I’m not surprised. You obviously have a strong work ethic. What did you study?”  
“History and lit,” Conan said as they sat on the couch.   
“Nice,” Dawn nodded. “And yet here you are writing comedy.”  
“Yeah well,” Conan began. “I found my way to the _Harvard Lampoon_ and I just fell in love with it. I knew this was the world I wanted to take part in.”  
Dawn smiled. “Hey, you hungry?”  
“Yeah,” Conan nodded. “Wanna order something?”   
“I actually have some leftover lasagna if you’re not opposed to that,” she suggested.  
“Sounds great.”  
Dawn heated up the food and they sat down to eat. Conan took the first couple of bites and hummed appreciatively.  
“This is really good, did you make it?” He asked.  
Dawn nodded. “Thanks. Yeah, I love to cook.”  
Taking another big bite, it was a moment before Conan could respond. “How do you find the time?”  
“Well, on our off-weeks or Sundays I’ll just cook a bunch of big meals and freeze them, so I can take them out and throw them in the oven or microwave and be ready to go.”  
“Smart,” Conan nodded.   
They finished eating and put things away before retiring to the couch. Dawn sat next to Conan, nestling under his arm and they turned on the tv, watching the new episode of _Law and Order_ she’d taped earlier. Conan’s fingers absently played with her hair and she was comforted by the slow, steady rise and fall of his slender chest under her head.  
When the episode came to an end, Conan turned to press a kiss to her temple. Lifting her face to meet his, they brushed lips softly.  
“Want to go to bed?” He asked.  
She nodded up at him, grinning.  
Making their way to her room, Conan pulled off his jeans and t-shirt and she did the same. One corner of her room had a small desk, a tiny easel on top with a half-finished sketch of a pair of hands. Looking at the art decorating the walls, he wondered if she’d made any of it, but the thought passed from his mind as she approached him, tossing her bra aside as she ran her hands up his chest.  
Smiling, they kissed, tongues twirling as Conan’s strong hands drew her body close. Rubbing his hands over her back, their kissing deepened, and Dawn pulled down his boxers, followed by her own underwear, before walking them backwards to the bed and laying down. Dawn pulled his lithe body into her own, rejoicing in the pressure of him on top of her as she wound one hand into his orange hair. Conan tip-toed a hand down her body and between her legs, taunting, teasing, until she was moist and anxiously aching for his touch.  
Dawn caressed his cock lightly a few times before guiding him to her entrance. Their eyes met and Conan slid inside, Dawn humming in assent. For a few minutes their bodies rolled together, gaining intensity as Conan gently rubbed her clit in time with his strokes.  
Abruptly, Conan stopped kissing her. “Hold on a sec.” He pulled himself away from her body and grabbed one of the free pillows.   
“Lift your hips up,” he suggested.  
Dawn raised an eyebrow, but agreed, pushing her feet into the mattress to do so. Conan folded the pillow and put it underneath her ass, elevating her pelvis. Then, on his knees now, he entered her once more, holding tight to her hip with one hand and replacing the other between her legs. Dawn groaned, using her feet to propel herself forward, the new angle allowed him to drive deeper inside of her than ever before and she found herself putting her hands behind her against the headboard because she longed for more.  
Conan thrust into her, swiveling his hips slightly with each stroke and the way she screamed and gasped his name just encouraged him further, and soon he was hammering her with such ferocity that he surprised even himself as her body stuttered and thrashed around his cock. The movements of his hips jittery and irregular, Conan came with a shout before folding over her, breath coming in gasps.  
After a moment, Conan withdrew and flopped on the bed, listless. Dawn reached underneath her to extract the pillow and was slightly embarrassed to see that there was a large wet spot on it. Tossing it on the floor so she would remember to put it in the wash, she rolled over to face him. Reaching out, she traced a finger lightly over his face, admiring all the hills and valleys as he broke into a smile.   
Conan swallowed, nervous, but decided it was best to let it out. “You make me really happy, you know that?”   
“Yeah?”  
“Yeah.”  
“You make me really happy, too, Conan. I feel…safe with you.” Dawn’s face looked almost solemn as she stared back at him.   
He leaned forward to kiss her lightly. Now that they’d cooled off they crawled under the covers and Conan held her close as they fell asleep, comforted by the scent of her skin.  
——  
  
The next day Conan took a cab home to change before heading into work. Both he and Dawn wrote second sketches for the week, trying to improve their chances of getting on the board. Everyone was a little on the nervous side with Steinbrenner since he wasn’t a naturally funny person.  
At around 7:00 p.m. he ran into Dawn alone by the coffee machine.   
“Hey, how’s it going?”   
Dawn nodded. “Oh, pretty good. Working on a piece with that new Rock kid. How about you?”  
“Not half bad. Something with Farley. Kind of hard to get him to focus, but he’s so much fun.”  
Dawn chuckled, taking a sip of her coffee. She winced. “Ahh! Burnt my tongue. Stupid.” She said, bringing a hand to her mouth.  
“Aw, that’s too bad,” Conan said. He took a step closer, looming over her and craning his head down towards her ear. “ _Want me to kiss it and make it better_?” He said in a deep voice just above a whisper. Dawn looked up at him, eyes burning into his, faces close.  
“Hey there!” A voice chimed.  
Conan and Dawn sprang apart, almost causing her to spill her coffee. Bonnie Turner stood in the doorway smiling at them. Their eyes were wide and they couldn’t help but look guilty.  
“Hey Bonnie,” Conan said awkwardly. “Well…I’m going to go back to my office.” And with that he took three long strides and slipped past Bonnie out the door.   
Bonnie looked at Dawn, but she just raised her cup of coffee. “Guess I’ll get going, too. See you, Bonnie.” Dawn made her way back to her office, shutting the door behind her. She closed her eyes and let out a deep breath before sitting at her desk. She’d only written a couple of sentences when she heard a knock at the door.  
“Come in.”  
Bonnie opened the door, grinning at her. “Mind if I come in?”  
Dawn swallowed. “Sure.”  
Bonnie sat down on the couch, putting her feet up on the coffee table and crossing her arms, face plastered with a knowing smile.  
“So…” she began. “ _Conan_ , eh?” She made her eyebrows dance.  
“What do you mean?” Dawn said, fingers clenching the arms of her chair.  
“Oh come _on_ ,” Bonnie tilted her head.  
Dawn rolled her eyes. “Okay, fine. It was worth a shot to try and deny it. Yeah, Conan. We were trying to keep it quiet though. You know how it is here.”  
Bonnie nodded knowingly. “Yeah. The boys club. Don’t worry, no one will hear it from me.”  
“Thanks, Bon.”  
“No prob,” she said. “So…how is he?” Bonnie wiggled her eyebrows and gave a little shimmy.  
Dawn rolled her eyes. “Aw, come on…”  
“What? I’m curious!”  
“Well,” Dawn smiled, her cheeks growing red. “Let’s just say that as hard as he makes me laugh, he also makes me…”  
Bonnie chuckled appreciatively. “Nice. Well, Conan is a solid guy. I’ve known him the entire time he’s been here and he’s always kind and polite. Especially compared to some of the animals around here.”  
“Yeah, I think I got really lucky,” Dawn said, smiling and glancing sheepishly at the floor.  
Bonnie looked at her. “Oooh, you’ve got it _bad_ , huh?”  
Dawn shrugged and could feel her face growing redder.  
“Okay, okay. I’ll leave you alone,” Bonnie held up her hands and stood to leave. “Just try to be a little more careful around the coffee machine, okay?”  
Dawn nodded and thanked her. Returning to her typewriter she realized how true it was. She was incredibly lucky.  
——

The week went relatively smoothly. Both Conan and Dawn got one of their sketches through to air, and though Steinbrenner didn’t do a stellar job, it was passable. They spent a few of the nights together, and on more than one occasion found themselves tearing into one another within the confines of their small offices.   
When the show wrapped, Dawn turned to Conan. “Any plans tonight?”  
He shook his head. “Nothing specific. I mean, I assume everyone is going out, but I haven’t heard where yet.”  
“Wanna ditch and go dancing with me?” Dawn asked, biting her lip and grinning.  
Conan tilted his head and let out a deep sigh. “This feels like a mistake, but okay, sure.”  
Dawn let out a little squeal and jumped up and down. “Yay! Let’s go back to my place first so I can change really quick, okay?”  
Conan nodded and they slipped out. They had to walk around the corner to catch a cab together because a handful of cast members were out smoking in front of the building.  
Arriving at her place, Dawn tossed her bag and rushed towards her closet.  
“I’ll be just a minute.”  
Conan nodded and sat down. A few minutes later she emerged and when he turned around to look at her his eyes grew wide.  
“Uh… _wow_ ,” he uttered. She was in a tight, short black dress that emphasized her bust, black heels that laced up her ankles, and she’d taken down her hair and even applied some deep red lipstick. Conan had only ever seen her in jeans and t-shirts, and he’d found that incredibly sexy, so this…  
“Aw, thank you,” she said, coming over to kiss him.  
“Really caught me off guard. It’s quite a bit different from how you usually dress,” he said, rocking her back and forth with his hands at her waist.  
“Oh yeah,” she said. “I actually used to wear a lot of dresses and skirts, stuff like that. But then I got hired for this small public access comedy show in Wisconsin, and I made the mistake of showing up on my first day in a dress, not thinking that I’d probably be the only woman there,” she shook her head. “Every day after that was an uphill battle to get them to respect me.”  
Conan frowned. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize that was why…”  
“Yeah,” she shrugged. “Unfortunately, it is what it is.” She sighed, then tipped her head up to give him another quick kiss. She barely had to stretch with the heels on. Conan brought his hands to her waist, one beginning to trail down to her ass.  
“Now, none of that,” she giggled, removing it and taking a step back. “Later. You’re taking me dancing.”  
Conan nodded in surrender and they left, grabbing a cab. When they pulled up outside of a club with a bright neon sign that read _TASTE_. He could hear the pulse of the music before he opened the car door, and as they made their way inside Conan slowly acclimated to the noise and flashing lights.  
“Wanna get a drink?” Dawn called over the music.   
Conan nodded and followed her to the bar. Dawn ordered a vodka sour for herself and Conan got a rum and Diet Coke. Downing them quickly, Dawn grabbed his hand and dragged him to the dance floor. Conan felt incredibly silly. No matter how hard he tried, his limbs never seemed to truly obey him when he danced. But as he watched Dawn’s body undulate before him, he found he didn’t much care.   
After a couple of songs they got more drinks, then returned to the dance floor. Her body pressed against his, warm and wiggling, Conan pressed his forehead to hers as the music pulsed in his feet. They repeated the pattern, dancing for a while and stopping for drinks. Soon Conan’s self-consciousness disappeared as he spun and twisted with Dawn, laughing and grinding. Depeche Mode’s _Enjoy the Silence_ came over the speakers and Dawn held him close, rubbing her body suggestively against him.  
_All I ever wanted, All I ever needed is here in my arms  
Words are very unnecessary, They can only do harm_  
Conan couldn’t resist. He took her face in his hands and kissed her, their bodies still moving in time to the music. Tongues sliding loosely back and forth, the song died away and the club lights flashed, indicating closing time.   
When they emerged into the October air, Conan realized he was pretty drunk.   
Dawn stumbled into his arms. “Hey there…” she smiled, leaning in to kiss him. They made out shamelessly on the sidewalk for a moment before she pulled away and grabbed him by the hand.  
“Come on,” she dragged him down the block, her steps weaving slightly back and forth. Conan didn’t know where they were going but found he couldn’t summon much concern.  
Dawn turned the corner down an alley and walked about halfway down, leaning back against the wall where a discarded fridge partially obscured their view of the street.  
“ _Fuck me_ ,” she pulled him to her by the collar, mashing their mouths together and lifting a leg to wrap around his waist.   
“Here?” Conan asked, breaking the kiss.  
She nodded eagerly and he paused, looking down the alley. _Fuck it._ He kissed her madly, tongues uncoordinated, hands pawing wildly at her breasts and managing to free the left one from her dress and bra. Dawn reached between them and undid Conan’s jeans, fishing inside to release his cock from his boxers. Pumping hard, Conan panted against her mouth and reached down to push her thong aside, running his fingers up and down her slit a couple of times before taking his cock from her hand and entering her. Using his right hand to hold up her hip, his left rubbed her clit while he thrust her against the wall, Dawn clinging to him and moaning in the autumn night air with abandon. Someone could hear, come by at any second, but they didn’t care. That just spurred them on. Grinding up and down against the wall, Dawn came, the fluttering of her insides around his cock pushing Conan over the edge, causing a string of expletives to pour from his lips.   
Dislodging and straightening themselves up, they stumbled back down the alley, hailing a cab back to Dawn’s apartment. When they arrived, they each drank a large glass of water, disrobed, and fell in a heap on the bed, messy and satisfied.  



	4. 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trying different formatting this time to see if it’s easier to do here on AO3. Sorry if the change is disorienting.

When Conan woke the next morning, he groggily peered around the room, stretching one gangly limb off of the bed before getting up and going to the bathroom. When he returned to bed, Dawn was starting to stir and he slid back in, her eyes fluttering open.

  
“Good morning,” she muttered sleepily, looking at him with one eye shut as she fought to bring his face into focus.

  
“Morning,” he smiled. 

  
“What time is it?” She asked. 

  
Conan peered over her shoulder. “Almost 2:00 p.m.” 

  
Dawn nodded appraisingly, rubbing her eyes and standing up to go to the bathroom. Conan rolled out of bed and went to the kitchen to get a glass of water. When Dawn emerged, padding across the floor and scratching a hand through her unkempt hair, he offered her one and she accepted gratefully. 

  
“Hungover?” Conan asked. 

.   
Dawn shrugged. “Nah, not really. I’m okay. A little fuzzy, but fine. You?” 

  
“You kidding?” He raised an eyebrow. “My Irish ancestors would roll in their graves.” 

  
She chuckled. “So, any ideas for what you want to do today?”

  
“Hmm…” Conan placed his index finger against his thin lips, contemplating. “Wanna go out for breakfast and go from there?”

  
“Sure,” Dawn nodded. “I’m just going to jump in the shower and we can go.”

  
“I’ll join you,” Conan wiggled his eyebrows. Dawn laughed and they made their way to the bathroom.

  
They stepped inside and the warm water hit their bodies, plastering Conan’s orange hair to his scalp. He let her under the stream to wash her hair first, enjoying the view of the water as it cascaded down the curves of her naked body. Switching, he scrubbed his hair clean, and as they began washing their bodies, Dawn tipped her face up towards his and he leaned down, water dripping from the tip of his nose as their lips met. Reaching one large hand up, Conan began massaging her breast, suds washing away as she trailed her fingers over his chest and arms. Growing erection becoming painfully evident, Conan deepened their kiss, sliding one hand between her legs and backing her against the wall of the shower. Dawn’s hand gripped his cock, beginning to squeeze gently, rolling up from the shaft and applying delicious pressure to the sensitive head as her wrist twisted.

  
Breathing hard, Dawn started writhing up and down the wall of the shower.

  
“You like that?” Conan asked, voice low and gritty, fingers teasing her inflamed clit. 

  
She panted against his mouth, milking his cock faster. “Yeah, I love it.”

  
“ _You like the way I touch you_?”

  
Closing her eyes, she nodded feverishly, pelvis grinding into his hand. “I love it. I love it, Conan, you make me cum so hard, _fuck_.”

  
Conan leaned forward, nipping the sensitive skin behind her ear lightly and tasting her fresh flesh as he thrust forth into the tight circle of her fist.

  
“Yeah, yeah, cum for me. _Cum for me_.”

  
She obeyed, throwing her head back and moaning, “ _Yes, yes, Conan, fuck, yes_!” Trembling against the shower wall, her hand moving frantically over him. With a groan, Conan shot forth, rivulets of cum and water spilling over Dawn’s knuckles as his hips stuttered forth.

  
Dawn’s eyes opened and they smiled at one another, Conan pushing his wet hair back. Finishing up, they turned off the water and got out, drying off. Luckily Conan had the foresight to toss a fresh t-shirt and boxers in his work bag, so they got dressed, Dawn adorning herself in a green knee-length knit dress with brown boots, and left.

  
Scooting into an empty booth, Conan perused the menu. Dawn said this was her favorite diner within walking distance and after making his selection he looked up at her.

  
Dawn smiled back at him, then suddenly her eyes went wide. “Oh, I forgot to tell you! Bonnie confronted me about finding us in the break room.”

  
“Oh yeah?” Conan pulled a concerned face.

  
Just then their waitress arrived. They placed their orders, handed her their menus, and resumed the conversation.

  
“Yeah. There was no denying it, unfortunately, but she’s not going to spread it around.”

  
Conan nodded. “Well, that’s good.”

  
“Yeah. She thinks very highly of you by the way,” Dawn said. “She also inquired about your _skills_ ,” she winked at him from across the table.

  
Conan laughed. “Oh yeah? What did you tell her?”

  
“Not much. But it was, of course, complimentary.”

  
Conan smiled. “Thanks. You’re not half bad yourself.”

  
Dawn made her eyebrows dance and grinned. “So have you told anyone? You know, about us?”

  
“No,” Conan shook his head. “Well, my brother heard you while we were on the phone the other day, so my whole damn family knows I had a girl over by now I’m sure, but I haven’t wanted to tell any of my guy friends just yet.”

  
“Oh yeah? Why not?” She looked at him curiously.

  
“Well,” he began, fiddling with the salt shaker. “I guess I’m not really sure. It’s like…it’s like I have this thing that’s just mine that no one knows about and I don’t want to share it. I guess you’re just…precious to me.” He swallowed and could feel the blood filling his cheeks. Nervously he looked up, but he found her face smiling back at him. Dawn slid a hand across the table and squeezed his own. 

  
“You’re sweet,” she smiled.

  
Just then their food arrived, large platters laden with eggs, bacon, and pancakes. They tucked in, silent for a few minutes as they chewed. 

  
When he was about halfway through his meal, Conan swallowed, took a sip of water, and gestured to her with his fork. “So, got anything for Swayze this week?”

  
Dawn held a hand in front of her mouth while she finished chewing “Yeah, actually,” she swallowed. “I was thinking about a sketch where he and another guy, Meyers maybe, are sitting at a bar having a drink with their friend and they ask him to dance with them. First, everything starts out normal, just three straight guys dancing, but as the song progresses Swayze and Meyers get closer and closer, heating up while this third dude is trapped in the middle. And the whole time they’re like, ‘What, dude, we’re just dancing?’”

  
Conan laughed. “That’s great.”

  
“Thanks,” she said. “How about you?”

  
“Well,” Conan picked up a piece of egg on his fork. “I was thinking about a Road House type-thing, but he’s just this big tough guy who will only challenge people to thumb wars.”

  
Dawn burst out laughing. “Hilarious.”

  
As they finished their meal and waited for the check, Dawn pulled on her sweater. “So, what do you want to do today?”   
Conan shrugged. “No special ideas, you?”

  
“You know, I heard there’s a new exhibit at The Met. Wanna check it out?”

  
He nodded. They paid and left, making their way down to the subway. As usual on Sundays, it was crowded, half packed with wide-eyed tourists looking dazed. Conan squeezed in next to Dawn, the citrusy smell of her hair flooding his nostrils as her body jostled against him with the movement of the train.

  
Arriving at their stop, they disembarked, walking up the subway stairs and out into the fresh air. As they approached the large stone entry of the museum, Conan took Dawn’s hand in his. Slowly they strolled, making their way past paintings, sculptures, and installations, pausing here and there to admire a piece that caught the eye.

  
One in particular caught Dawn’s eye and she stopped to stare at it while Conan progressed on without her. It was what looked to be a Renaissance painting of a woman with long, red hair on a horse in a flowing gown, leaning down to a knight with similar red hair and a strong jaw, their lips inches apart. Leaning in she squinted and saw the name: _La belle dame sans merci_ by Frank Bernard Dicksee and read from the description that it was apparently based on a poem by Keats.

  
She knew it was silly, sappy, but looking at the painting warmed her in a way that was difficult to put into words. Conan surprised her by coming up behind her and swallowing her up in his strong arms, pressing a kiss to her cheek. 

  
“Hey there,” he said, leaning his head against hers and rocking them side to side. “You like this one?”

  
She nodded, reaching back a hand to his cheek and turning to meet his lips. Conan found himself drinking her deep, hands sliding to her waist as their tongues slid about.

  
“Ahem.”

  
Conan opened his eyes to see a middle aged woman giving them a scolding glance as she ushered her young son away from them. He chuckled.

  
“Guess we scandalized someone,” Dawn giggled. They proceeded through the museum, Conan delicately rubbing the small of her back as she leaned into him.

  
Suddenly, when they were walking past the men’s room she grabbed the fabric at the front of his shirt, leaning in to his ear. “Check and see if anyone’s inside.” She gave him a mischievous grin.

  
“What?” Conan chuckled. “ _Seriously_?”

  
Dawn just nodded, bringing her face close to his.

  
Conan chewed his lip for a second before pushing through the swinging door of the men’s room and looking around, peering underneath the stalls. Empty. Stepping back out and looking from side to side, he grabbed Dawn by the arm and dragged her inside, lips fusing together as he walked her backward to the largest stall. 

  
Kicking the door shut behind him and sliding home the lock, Conan grasped her breasts, massaging roughly while she reached down and undid his zipper, working her hand into his boxers and releasing his cock. Lowering his hands to her thighs, Conan lifted her up and she wrapped her legs around him, their kisses deepening in intensity as he reached between them to push her underwear aside and enter her. Dawn gasped and began to writhe up and down as Conan held her up with one hand, the other working furiously on her clit. Moaning against one another’s lips, all the while one ear trained on the door in case someone should come in, they raced towards orgasm, Conan thrusting wildly. Fingers digging into his back, Dawn shuddered, head thrown back against the wall and Conan pulsed against her for a final time.

  
Forehead pressed against the cool tile, Conan let her down and slowly extricated himself. Dawn pulled her skirt down and smoothed herself over, Conan buckling up. They stepped out of the stall and Conan peeked out of the door, looking around. The coast was clear. He gestured for Dawn to go first and she scurried out, Conan following, and they attempted to look natural as they resumed their route of the exhibits. They spent the rest of the day enjoying the art and one another, sharing secret smiles and tender touches.  
—-

Swayze week was going well. Dawn’s individual sketch idea didn’t make it through, unfortunately, but one she worked on with Jack Handey did. On Thursday, as per usual, she found herself with some free time while they waited for edits and set builds, so she wandered to Conan’s office. Through the door she could hear the soft strumming of a guitar, though as she lifted a hand to knock she couldn’t place the song.

  
“Come in.”

  
“Hey,” she said.

  
“Hi there,” he balanced the guitar near the desk, standing up to give her a kiss once the door closed. “How’re you doing?” 

  
Dawn trailed her fingers through his soft hair. “I’m good, how’re you?”

  
Conan nodded, rubbing his hands along the sides of her waist. “Better now.” Catching her mouth again, they made their way to the couch, Conan sitting down and Dawn straddling him. Pulling her sweatshirt over her head, Dawn massaged his chest, purring against his lips as she lightly rolled her body above his own. Conan rubbed her breast through her t-shirt, delighting in the taste of her mouth.

  
“Hey Conan, could you—“ came the voice of Bob Odenkirk as the door swung open. 

  
Conan and Dawn’s mouth’s separated with a loud puckering sound and she spun around, eyes wide and face alarmed. It would’ve been comic in another situation, but as Bob stared at them open-mouthed, they didn’t feel like laughing.

  
“Oh…um…sorry,” he muttered, turning away and quickly shutting the door behind him.

  
Dawn closed her eyes, sighed, and lowered her head to Conan’s chest. “I’m sorry, I thought I locked the door.”

  
Conan shook his head, placing a hand on the back of her head. “It’s okay,” he patted her ass. “Come on, I’ll go talk to Bob.”

  
He left the office and strode down the hallway, approaching Odenkirk’s ajar door. 

  
“Enter,” he said when Conan rapped gently.

  
“Hey Bob,” Conan said with a half grin, coming in and closing the door behind him.

  
“Hey…” Bob spun to face him. Conan shoved his hands in his pockets, rocking back and forth. “So…you and Damel then?”

  
Conan nodded. “Yup.”

  
“How long has that been going on?”

  
“Just a couple of weeks,” Conan shrugged.

  
“And um…” Bob scratched his temple. “You think that’s a…a good idea?”

  
Conan squinted his eyes. “What do you mean?”

  
“You know,” Bob held out his hands. “Pen. Company ink.” He mimed dipping one into the other.

  
“Yeah, yeah…” Conan rolled his eyes.

  
Bob shook his head. “Not to be “that guy” but, have you thought about what might happen if it doesn’t work out? You know better than most that people don’t just walk away from this job willy-nilly. You really want to walk past her in the hallway a dozen times a day?”

  
Conan swallowed. He had to admit, no, he hadn’t considered that. “Well, I…I think it’ll be okay.”

  
“I hope so,” Bob nodded. 

  
“But, uh…do you mind keeping it under your hat? At least for now?”

  
“No problem,” Bob held out his hands. “Just lock the door next time.” 

  
Conan grinned. “Definitely. Thanks, Bob. Alright, see ya.” Bob gave a wave and Conan left his office, a sinking feeling permeating his stomach.  
——  
  
On Saturday, Conan watched the dress rehearsal. Mariah Carey was performing as the musical guest tonight and as she warmed up he had to admit he found her pretty sexy. Peering at the various people standing around, Dawn’s familiar figure was nowhere to be seen, so Conan made his way back to the offices. 

  
“Come in,” Dawn said as he knocked on her door. Conan entered, locking the door behind him.

  
“Hi,” Dawn said, looking down at a legal pad she was scrawling on. Conan didn’t respond, grabbing the pen and pad out of her hand.

  
“Hey, I was—“ she complained, but Conan pressed a finger to her lips. Then he turned from her to her typewriter, hoisting it from its position on the front center of her desk to the back corner. Dawn looked at him, eyebrow raised as he turned back to her, lifting her up by the front of her sweatshirt. 

  
Conan’s eyes drilled into hers, face indiscernible as he reached down and undid the button and fly of her jeans, abruptly tugging them along with her underwear down past her knees. Crouching down to work them off the rest of the way, Dawn helped him by kicking off her shoes, and when Conan stood again she was before him, bottomless.

  
He pressed two fingers to her chest, directing her backwards to the desk until her ass bumped up against the edge. Sitting down, Conan placed a hand on either one of her knees, spreading her legs wide before kneeling to the floor. Still maintaining eye contact, Conan put one leg over his shoulder, then the other. Bringing his mouth to her, he brushed her lips with his own before gently stroking her slit with his nose. Starting to lick in tiny circles, Dawn’s eyes dropped closed, the tantalizing motion of his tongue making her hands clench the desk. Conan reached up and grabbed her hips, drawing her near. Her legs weren’t quite long enough to reach the floor, so as her ass balanced on the edge, nearly all of her weight rested on his eager, talented mouth. Conan wrapped his lips around her clit, starting to suck, and Dawn snaked against his face, dripping down his chin. Fighting to keep quiet, she gathered up the fabric of her sweatshirt and shoved it in her own mouth, moaning and salivating shamelessly. As her orgasm ripped through her, Dawn’s heels danced against his back, her nails scratching the underside of her desk as her moans gradually turned to helpless gasps.

  
Dawn leaned back and Conan stood, wiping his face on his sleeve. He looked her deep in the eyes for a moment, pushing her hair away from her face. Conan dove in for hungry kisses, only to part, pull her bodily from the desk, turn her around and bend her over, unzipping his pants quickly to enter her unceremoniously with his throbbing cock. Dawn gasped, palms flat on the desk as Conan began pounding into her, one hand coming around between her legs, the other sliding up underneath her t-shirt to snatch one of her breasts from her bra. His body curved over hers, back arching as he thrust, breath hot against her ear as he began to release soft, high moans.

  
“ _Yeah, Dawn, fuck, yes_!” Conan panted quietly, humping her hard into the desk as his hand rushed between her thighs. She pushed back against him, curving her ass up to meet his strokes, and when he removed his hand from underneath her shirt and used it to pull her hair, she pounded on the desk, lost in ecstasy. Covering her mouth with one hand, Dawn began to convulse, and Conan buried his face in the back of her neck as his final strokes struck home. Collapsing forward on the desk, breathing hard and waiting for their sweat to dry, they held onto one another, satisfied.

  
They separated, getting dressed. Dawn looked at the wet spot staining the surface of her desk and blushed, doing her best to wipe it away with a few tissues. Then she looked down at her sweatshirt and saw a similar spot from when she’d shoved it in her mouth and frowned. Unfortunately she didn’t keep a spare here at the office. _Guess I’ll just say I spilled something if anyone asks._

  
Leaving her office to go watch the rest of the dress rehearsal, then the live show, Conan and Dawn found themselves beaming. Not only was it a fantastic show, the Chippendale’s sketch with Swayze and Farley written by Jim Downey in particular killed, but they found that the glow of being in one another’s presence seemed to linger wherever they went, and standing by the audience, Conan subtly slid his finger over to graze her arm, Dawn responding by pressing her shoulder against him, the shared warmth reassuring in the darkness of the studio.


	5. 5

Nestled under Conan’s arm, Dawn sighed contentedly as he flipped through the channels. 

  
“Ooh,” he exclaimed. “Score.” He’d come across a rerun of the Adam West _Batman_ series. 

  
Dawn laughed. “You big nerd.” 

  
“Aw, come on!” Conan said. Then he caught her in a playful headlock and scrubbed the top of her head with his knuckles, giving her a noogie. “ _Wananananananana_!”

  
Dawn flailed helplessly. “Get off me you big doof!” 

  
Conan laughed and released her, kissing her forehead. 

  
The episode happened to contain Julie Newmar, Catwoman, prowling across the screen in her skin-tight black leather suit and heels. Dawn was watching the dynamic duo, contemplating how they were going to get out of yet another sinister bind, when she felt Conan’s hand dragging down to massage her ass. She looked up at him and his eyes were still fixed on the television, Julie’s feline movements attempting to disarm the dark knight, and she chuckled internally at his transparency. 

  
Tipping her face up, she pressed a kiss to his sharp jawline, rubbing her hand over his chest and down his abdomen before beginning to palm him over his sweatpants, feeling him grow hard under her fingers. Conan’s mouth met hers and he took hold of her face, inhaling her as Dawn’s hand slipped underneath his waistband, coaxing him tenderly with the tips of her fingers until the head of his cock was swollen and purple. 

  
Separating from his mouth, Dawn pulled him free from his boxers and delicately began to tease his frenulum, licking it with the tip of her tongue, then kissing it, rubbing it with the ball of her thumb, and even sucking it. The other thumb rubbed at the base of his cock in tiny, achingly slow circles and Conan was nudging himself forward, little begging moans emanating from his throat as she continued, occasionally using the tip of her tongue to wipe away the precum gathering at his slit.  
Fingers digging into the couch, Conan was in agony. “ _Dawn, I want you to suck me. Fuck Dawn, please_ …” He knew he was begging, but at this point he couldn’t take it any longer. 

  
Dawn stopped the ministrations of her tongue and looked into Conan’s lust-filled eyes, his face flushed, breathing hard and shook her head. _No_.

  
Conan clenched his eyes shut as she resumed, working her lips, tongue, and fingers faster and faster, his moans turning into high whimpers. Finally, mercifully, Dawn took the head of his cock into her mouth and sucked as hard as she could. Conan exploded, the stimulation overwhelming he rocked back and forth against the couch, hands buried in her hair as he pushed her down on his inflamed cock. Swallowing greedily, Dawn retracted herself and saw Conan sitting listless, breath returning to normal as he put himself back in his pants.

  
He opened one eye.“I’m going to get you back for that.”

  
Dawn chuckled. “Aw, come on. You liked it.”

  
He nodded. “Indeed I did.” He leaned over to kiss her. Snuggling back up next to him, they resumed watching tv, enjoying the rest of their evening together.

  
—-

The SNL Halloween party arrived, and as usual, it was a prime example of coworker comedic oneupmanship. Mike Meyers came dressed as a Twister mat, white clothes adorned with large colored dots. Dana was a One Night Stand, a lamp shade balanced on his head and a shelf on his shoulders that held a box of tissues and an actual working alarm clock. He kept inadvertently bumping into everyone as he misjudged the dimensions of his new shoulders. Farley simply wore a large red shirt with a badly-drawn black smile, dubbing himself the Kool-Aid man, and the red face paint he wore was running down his neck in rivulets of sweat within the first 30 minutes. 

  
Conan, Nealon, and Odenkirk came as Iceman, Maverick, and Goose from Top Gun, respectively, annoying the hell out of everyone with quotes throughout the night. Dawn had to admit that she found Conan more than a little bit sexy in the glasses and flight uniform, though. For her part she decided to go classic scary, dressing as Freddy Krueger, hair tucked up into a hat and sporting an oversized red and green sweater along with the signature glove of knives.

  
Peering around the room, Conan sought out Dawn, finally finding her crowded together with Bonnie, Chris Rock, and Jim near the appetizers. After a moment she must’ve sensed his eyes on her because she looked in his direction and they smiled at one another briefly before returning to their respective conversations.

  
As the party wound down, Dawn casually drifted towards Conan. “So, you ready to get out of here?” She asked.   
Conan looked around, nodding. “Yeah, let’s go.” He swung by his office to pick up his bag and Dawn did the same, shoving her fake knife glove inside.

  
Trailing a little ways behind her, Conan left the eighth floor and caught the elevator downstairs. They caught a cab to Dawn’s place and when they arrived Conan changed out of his flight suit into a t-shirt and boxers, sitting down on the couch and beginning to rifle through the channels.

  
“Conan?” Dawn called from the bedroom door.

  
“Hmm?” He didn’t look up from the television.

  
“I got a second costume…”

  
He turned his head without taking his eyes away from the tv. “What’s that now?” And then his eyes shifted over to her. Dawn was posed in the doorway in a skintight, sheer black catsuit that highlighted every voluptuous curve of her body and made it painfully obvious she wore nothing underneath. She’d paired it with knee-high leather heels and the signature black Catwoman mask, her hair down in luscious waves and her lips a deep crimsom, topping it off with a tiny pair of cat ears.  
Conan’s eyes widened and his nose flared. “That’s um…yeah…” Dawn raised an eyebrow and slid to the floor, giggling before crawling seductively toward him on her knees. When she reached him she ran her hands up his legs, nuzzling her head against his thigh before climbing into his lap. 

  
Sliding his hands over the slippery fabric, Conan gripped her ass to draw her near and caught her mouth with his, tongues entangled as she sank her fingertips into his fluffy hair. 

  
Dawn pulled back and stood up, grabbing the front of his t-shirt and guiding him after her into the bedroom. She lay back on the bed and Conan pursued her, growling at her and causing her to giggle before meeting her lips once more. Caressing her breasts through the fabric, Conan positioned himself on top of her, and Dawn could feel the persistent erection through his boxers. Dawn ground her hips forward, the pleasant heat between her legs provoking a deep groan from Conan’s chest as she crossed her heels behind him. He bore down, sliding against her body deliciously as their tension built, finally reaching between them to massage her clit through the suit, the fabric growing wet at his touch. Migrating to nibble at her ears, Conan tried to work down the neck of the suit while the other worked between her legs, but was finding it surprisingly difficult to manage.

  
“Just…just rip it...” Dawn panted underneath him.

  
Conan nodded, pinching at the fabric between her legs and pulling it away from her body before taking half in each hand, Dawn gasping lightly as he briskly ripped it apart to expose her. Lowering himself, Conan began to lap between her legs, Dawn’s wetness smearing his face as she began to writhe beneath him.

  
“Wait…wait…” she said, tapping his shoulder. Conan pulled up, confused. Dawn flipped herself upside down so she was facing his cock and he could still easily access her with his mouth and pulled off his boxers, tossing them aside and starting to stroke him. Spreading her legs, Conan dove in once more as she took him in her mouth. He rolled onto his back, carrying her with him so that her hips ground into his eager tongue and her mouth bounced up and down on his hard cock. 

  
Dawn sucked thirstily, taking him deep and moaning around his turgid flesh, hers dripping down Conan’s chin as he thrust his slender hips into her mouth. Frenzied and moaning, they rocked into one another chaotically, struggling to focus on the actions of their mouths as the pleasure between their legs overwhelmed them. Unable to hold on, Dawn cried out with Conan’s cock half in her mouth, body shivering violently as he sucked on her clit for a final few seconds. Composing herself slightly, she jerked his shaft, tongue rubbing insistently on the head until Conan’s hands were bunched in the fabric of the covers and he cried out her name, coming hard and hot in the back of her throat.

  
Dawn rolled off of him to the other side of the bed and they lay there panting, heads pointing in opposite directions as their hands wound together. Eventually they both stood, Dawn shedding her outfit for a more practical tank top and shorts and Conan retrieving his discarded boxers, and returned to bed, gathering together in the cozy afterglow of their passion.  
—-

Blowing on his hands as he entered Rockefeller Plaza, Conan was grateful to escape the early November chill as he pressed the button for the eighth floor. He’d overslept a little, and when he got to Lorne’s office it was already abuzz. It was Jimmy Smit’s week and he had nothing. _Time to toss out some bullshit_.

  
Squeezing into a spot on the floor next to Dana just in time, Lorne entered the room followed by Smits.

  
“Alright everybody, I’d like to welcome our host for the week, Jimmy Smits,” The room broke out in its usual applause. The pitches began, and as the circle progressed and Conan looked around the room, he narrowed his eyes. _Where is Dawn_?

Craning his neck, he didn’t see her familiar crown of crimson hair anywhere. Frowning, he waited until the end of the meeting and approached Bonnie.

  
“Hey, Bonnie,” he said. “Have you seen Dawn today?”

  
She shook her head. “Nope, not today.”

  
“Huh. Okay, thanks.” Deciding it couldn’t hurt, he double-checked her office. Empty of course. There’s no reason she wouldn’t be at pitch if she were in the building. While he was there he picked up the phone, dialing her number, thinking maybe she was home sick even though she seemed fine when he’d left around 10:00 the night before.

  
After the fifth ring the machine picked up, her cheery voice saying, “Please leave a message after the beep, thank you!”  
“Hey hun, it’s me. Didn’t see you at work today and just wondering where you are, want to make sure you’re okay. Give me a call at my office.” He left his number and said goodbye, doing his best to stop himself from chewing on his lips.

  
Strolling down to the end of the hall, he knocked on the door.

  
“Come in,” came the signature drawl.

  
“Hey Lorne,” he said. Even after years, the man was still an imposing figure, a colossus of comedy who could control your fate with the flip of a card, but this was important. “Did Dawn call in sick or anything today?”

  
Lorne shook his head. “No, I noticed she wasn’t here today and was curious about that myself. I haven’t heard anything.”

  
Conan nodded. “Alright, thank you.”

  
“Of course,” Lorne said, lowering his head to the papers before him as Conan walked back down the hall. Grabbing his bag and trying to banish the scenarios that danced around his head, he left, catching a cab to Dawn’s building.

  
He pressed the buzzer. He pressed the buzzer again. Nothing. _What if she fell and hit her head or something_? They’d never exchanged keys. There’d been no reason, really, as they were typically heading to one another’s apartments together. Deciding he would try to loiter outside and see if he could slip in after a resident, Conan paced on the pavement, stomach churning with anxiety. 

  
Finally a sleepy-looking college student trudged up to the building, putting his key in the lock and Conan didn’t think he even registered there was another human near him as he followed him in. 

  
Lifting his hand and rapping on her door, Conan held his breath. No response. He tried again, but it was the same. Clenching his fists, he looked around and saw a faded green sign that read _OFFICE_ —> and followed it down the hall. A large woman with stringy blonde hair sat behind a desk, finishing a cigarette, extinguishing it, and immediately lighting another as she flipped through a copy of the New York Post that looked to be at least two weeks old.

  
“Excuse me?” Conan asked. She looked up at him by only moving her eyes, puffing in dedication. “I think someone I know, one of your tenants—Dawn Damel, might be in trouble. Is there any way I could be let into her apartment? To see if she’s okay?”

  
The woman leaned back, looking him up and down and holding her cigarette away from her slightly. “How do I know you’re not just some creep trying to get into a ladies’ place?”

  
Conan was taken aback, but he pressed on. “Please, you can go in and check for yourself if you want, I don’t mind. I just want to know she’s alright.”

  
She puffed appraisingly for a moment. “Alright,” she said, retrieving a key from the desk. “Follow me.”

  
Shuffling down the hall at an infuriating pace, Conan trailed behind her and when she knocked and also got no answer, she slid the key in the lock and opened the door. In his anxiety Conan took a step forward, but she held up a hand.

  
“Let me look around first.” Conan waited outside and held his breath, terrified that he’d hear the landlord scream at something she found, but all he heard was her scuffling steps returning. “Nobody there,” she muttered simply, shrugging.  
“Can I please look around? To see if she left a note or anything saying where she went? She didn’t come into work today and didn’t tell anyone where she would be.”

  
The landlord eyed him suspiciously, but relented. “Okay, but I’m going in with you.”

  
“Thank you,” Conan sighed. Opening the door, Conan went in with her and walked around the apartment. It looked much like it had the night before. But he noticed her keys were missing from their tiny tray on the counter, her purse was off its hook, and her tennis shoes were gone. _Thank goodness she always keeps things in the exact same place_. He thought. _But where would she go_? 

  
Thanking the landlord and leaving, Conan caught a cab and went to his place. When he got there he rifled in the cabinet, emerging with the Yellow Pages. Flipping to the H’s and scanning downwards, he came across the section titled ‘Hospitals’. Even the word made him nauseous.

  
Conan noticed his fingers shaking as he dialed, trying Bellevue first, and fought to steady them. “Hello, Bellevue Hospital Admissions, how may I direct your call?” came a business-like feminine voice.

  
“Yes, hello,” Conan began, noticing his voice trembled a little as well. “Someone I know is missing and I’m wondering if they have been admitted since last night. Her name is Dawn Damel.” He spelt the name for her.

  
“No sir, no one under that name has been admitted,” she said. “But can you give me a description? Sometimes people come in without ID.”

  
Conan hadn’t thought of that and was grateful she mentioned it. “Oh, yeah, sure, she’s um…a white woman, red hair, 26, about 5’9”, 160 lbs maybe…” He could hear the sound of papers shuffling.

  
“No sir, no one matching that description was admitted in the last 24 hours.” Conan thanked her and hung up, moving on to the next number on the list. And the next. 

  
It was when he got to Lower Presbyterian that a tired-sounding man’s voice said, “Tall red head? Yeah, came in around midnight. No ID, no nothing. Still unconscious in the ICU. Good thing you called because we wouldn’t know who to get ahold of.”

  
Conan dropped the phone. All the air went out of him and he thought he might vomit. Reaching a trembling hand down to retrieve it, he got the room information and ran from his apartment, cursing every cab that wouldn’t stop.

  
One finally did and he sped toward the hospital. _Maybe it isn’t her, Maybe it’s just a coincidence_. But the roiling in his stomach and the acrid taste in his throat said otherwise.

  
Pulling up in front of the hospital, Conan tossed the driver some bills and rushed inside.

  
“Room 221?” He asked the woman at the front desk, who politely gave him directions. As he rode the elevator, arms crossed and fingers rapping against his elbow, he couldn’t believe how slowly they were moving. The doors opened and he sprinted down the hall, almost passing the room in his hurry and doubling back a half step. Now that he was here, hand on the doorknob, he hesitated for a moment, taking a shuddering breath.

  
Conan opened the door. Gasping, he brought a hand to his mouth. It was Dawn, alright. But he barely recognized her. The entire left side of her face was swollen, purplish-red, eye shut, and her lower lip was split. As he approached the bed he noticed that three of the fingers on her right hand were splinted and they seemed to have shaved away a spot on her scalp to apply a bandage.

  
Just then a nurse came into the room. “Oh!” She exclaimed, seeing Conan. “Are you…do you know her?”

  
Conan nodded. He was trembling, afraid to speak, knowing his voice would come out thick and wavering.

  
“Oh good, we have some questions. I’ll go get the doctor, have a seat,” she gestured to the chair on the far side of Dawn’s bed and left. Conan moved towards it, feeling as though he was walking through water and sat down. 

  
It could’ve been an hour or a minute, he couldn’t tell, but suddenly there was a balding pale man in a white coat entering the room, clipboard in hand. He asked Conan a barrage of questions. Some were easy, like her name. Some he didn’t know, like medication allergies. Conan responded in a robotic monotone, staring off into the middle distance. 

  
When finally they came to the end of the paperwork he mustered the courage to ask the question that haunted him. “Do you, um…” he swallowed hard. “Do you have any idea what happened to her?”

  
The doctor flipped back through the sheets. “From the police report, it says someone reported screams heard in an alleyway. Which for New York, I probably don’t have to tell you, is rare. Usually they just let ‘em scream,” he shrugged and Conan silently thanked whoever that kind soul was who dialed 911.

  
“When police arrived they found a man on top of her, beating her. She was already unconscious but…” he flipped to the next page. “She wasn’t sexually assaulted yet, so she’s really lucky.”

  
Conan looked up at the doctor, intently meeting his eyes. “Do me a favor, doc,” he clenched his jaw. “Don’t ever tell anyone that someone who went through this is _lucky_.”

  
He stared him down until the doctor became flustered and looked back at his paperwork, clearing his throat. “Well, um…as for her injuries…she has a contusion on the back of her head, hairline fractures in her eye socket and cheekbone, and three broken fingers. We also suspect maybe a broken rib or two, but we’ll have to wait for her to wake up to check.”

  
“When do you think she will? You know, wake up?”

  
The doctor tipped his head from side to side. “Hard to be exactly sure. Hopefully not long now, ” he said. “Well, a nurse will be in to check on her vitals. Let them know if you need anything.” 

  
Conan just nodded heavily. The doctor left and he was alone in the room with her. Lifting quivering fingers, he took her undamaged left hand in his own. Conan leaned forward, put his face into the bed, and wept.  
——

A barrage of nurses, techs, and the occasional doctor came by overnight. When one of the nurses was there early the next afternoon, Conan asked if she’d be around for a few minutes so he could make a phone call. He didn’t want to leave Dawn alone even for a minute. 

  
Reaching the payphone he dropped in a quarter and dialed.

  
“Lorne Michaels.”

  
“Yeah, hi Lorne, it’s Conan O’Brien,” he said into the receiver.

  
“Hi Conan, heard you slipped out yesterday?” He drawled.

  
Conan nodded even though he couldn’t see him. “Yeah, about that, um…” Conan fought hard. The last thing he wanted to do was cry on the phone with Lorne. “I’m at the hospital.”

  
“The hospital?” he sounded concerned.

  
“Yeah, um…I’m here with Dawn. She was attacked and, uh..she…she’s unconscious.” Swallowing hard, Conan pressed his eyes shut and a couple of tears squeezed out, but he hoped Lorne couldn’t hear it in his voice. “So I’m not going to be coming in today.”

  
“Oh my…that’s awful…yeah, of course. Take all the time you need. Please give her my best when she wakes up.”

  
“I will,” Conan said, a small titter creeping into his voice. “Thank you, Lorne.” They said their goodbyes and hung up. 

  
Making his way back to the small hospital room, he sat down and the pleasant middle-aged nurse placed a hand on his shoulder. “You know maybe you should go home. We can call you when she wakes up.”

  
“No,” Conan shook his head. “I need to be here with her.”

  
The nurse looked at him softly. “Well then, how about I get you a pillow, sweetie?”

  
He’d been sitting in that uncomfortable chair all night, awake, so he gratefully nodded and she scurried away, returning with a pillow and a small blanket. He thanked her and she left, Conan stretching out in the chair as best as his lanky body would allow, Dawn’s hand still firmly grasped in his own.

  
Waking to the sound of yet another nurse entering to take Dawn’s vitals, Conan looked around blearily. Night had fallen outside and when he glanced at the clock he saw it was almost 11 p.m. With a quick smile in his direction the nurse left.

Stretching, Conan folded up the blanket, setting it and the pillow on the bedside stand before turning back to Dawn’s still form and taking up her hand once more. He looked at the door, then back at her serene, broken face, reaching a finger up to stroke the undamaged side.

  
“Dawn? Dawn…” he cleared his throat. “Dawn, honey, you have to wake up now,” his voice began to quiver. “Dawn, you have to come back to me, okay? You have to…because…” he swallowed. ”You have to wake up because I never…I never got the chance to tell you I loved you.” Tears began to stream down his face. “And if you don’t wake up, I never will. So please, Dawn, please…come back to me…I’ll do anything, Dawn, please just wake up…because if you don’t…I can’t— _I can’t…please I’ll do anything_ …” sobs racked his body and he pressed her hand to his trembling lips.

  
“I’m going to hold you to that you know…” came a scratchy voice. In his alarm Conan dropped her hand, unsure if he’d wanted to hear her voice so badly he’d imagined it, but looking at her face he saw her good eye flutter open and he was somewhere between laughing and crying as he kissed her hand in relief.

  
“Hey there,” she croaked, attempting to smile at him, but then wincing at her painful lips and thinking better of it.

  
Conan was struggling to form words. “H-hey, how are you feeling?” 

  
“Thirsty,” she swallowed. 

  
He patted her hand. “Okay, okay…” he reached over and paged the nurse. 

  
A minute later a nurse came in. “She’s awake!” Conan smiled, still wiping away tears. 

  
“Oh great!” The nurse said. “How are you feeling?”

  
“Can I get some water, please?” Dawn asked.

  
“Of course. I’ll get some ice chips, too. And I’m going to page the doctor on call.” She stepped out of the room and Conan lifted a hand to stroke Dawn’s face, but instantly she flinched, tugging her hand away, her one good eye fearful. 

  
“Oh, I’m…I’m sorry,” Conan said softly. “I didn’t think…”

  
Dawn picked at nothing on her blanket with her good hand, face crumpling as tears appeared in her eyes. They stung on the swollen side and she shook her head, wanting them to go away. 

  
“I’m sorry…” her voice was thick. 

  
“Hey, no,” Conan said, looking at her, but she wouldn’t meet his eye. “You don’t have anything to apologize for. It’s not your fault. None of this is your fault.”

  
Dawn stared up at the ceiling, blinking. “But I don’t want to be afraid of you.”

  
Conan desperately wanted to hold her, to kiss her, to make it all go away and instantly be better but all he could do was sit there in the little hospital chair and watch as tears trickled down the face of the woman he loved.

  
Returning with the water and ice, Dawn turned to hide her face from the nurse who set it on the table in front of her before quietly leaving. 

  
After a moment of silence Dawn nervously extended her hand to entwine it with Conan’s again, sniffing. 

  
“You know I do too, right?” She said, rubbing his large thumb with hers.

  
“Hmm?”

  
“I love you, Conan.” 

  
He looked at her face, torn and shattered, and still desperately beautiful. 

  
“I love you, too, Dawn.”  



	6. 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Graphic description of violence and trauma ahead.

Finally convincing Conan to go home and get some sleep, he collapsed on top of the covers, not bothering to take off his clothes, and when he woke up it was just after 10:30 in the morning. Taking a shower and changing, Conan called Lorne to let him know he wouldn’t be in again. He got the sense that he wanted to ask why he, Conan, felt the need to be the one by Dawn’s side, but Lorne wasn’t the type of man to pry, so he simply wished her well and said goodbye. 

  
When Conan arrived at the hospital and opened the door to Dawn’s room, she was nowhere to be seen. The sheets of her bed, however, were bunched up and there was a half-finished cup of water on the table along with a magazine, so he sat down in the familiar chair and waited. 

  
About 20 minutes later the door swung open and a male nurse pushed Dawn into the room in a wheelchair. 

  
“Hi!” She said cheerily when she saw him. Standing and using her good hand to help slide herself back into bed. 

  
“Hey there,” Conan reached over and gave her hand a squeeze once she was in place. “How are you doing today?”

  
“Well, just found out no broken ribs, so that’s something,” she said. 

  
The nurse turned to them. “I’ll be right back with a fresh ice pack for your face. Do you need anything else right now?”

  
“Oh, maybe some more water, please?” Dawn asked. 

  
“You got it,” he nodded and wheeled the empty chair out of the room. 

  
Conan smiled at her. “I’m glad to hear about your ribs.”

  
“Thanks,” she said. “Did you get some sleep?”

  
“Yeah,” he nodded. “I passed out. Feeling much better, thanks for forcing me to go,” he rubbed her hand with his thumb.

“Silly that you’re still taking care of me.”

  
Smiling, Dawn said, “Well, if I didn’t, who would?”

  
Just then a knock came at the door. Dawn told them to enter and the door swung open to reveal a portly middle aged man in an ill-fitting suit with a bristly mustache below a nose that looked as though it had been broken at least twice.

  
“Miss Damel?” he said, reaching down to his belt and removing a badge, holding it up in their direction. “My name is Detective Martin, from the 99th precinct. Do you mind if I ask you some questions?”

  
Conan saw Dawn’s shoulders tense up and felt the pressure increase on his hand. “Of course.”

  
Detective Martin pulled a tiny notebook and pen from his coat pocket and used his meaty fingers to flip to a fresh page.

“Alright,” he said. “First, I’m going to be asking you some tough questions, Ms. Damel. Would you prefer to do this alone?” His eyes flicked in Conan’s direction.

  
Immediately she shook her head. “No, no, that’s okay.”

  
Martin nodded. “Okay then, perhaps you could explain in your own words what happened that night and we’ll go from there?”

  
Swallowing, Dawn steeled herself, taking a deep breath before she began. “Well, I left my apartment to get some milk.”

  
“And what time was this?” Martin interjected.

  
“Just a little after 11:00 p.m.” Dawn continued. “I didn’t hear him come up behind me. He punched me in the side of the head, knocking me to the left. Then his hand came around from behind and covered up my mouth,” she squeezed Conan’s hand and he did everything he could to impart comfort to her. “Then, he started dragging me into the alley. I bit his fingers, and he got angry, that’s when he punched me in the eye,” she gestured toward it with her bad hand. “It knocked me down and he got on top of me. I was trying to hit him, and then he took my hand and bent back the fingers,” she was trembling now, and Conan wanted to beg the Detective to let her stop, to just go, to come back another day, but he knew that it was like lancing a boil; she just had to get it out. “And he was on top of me. I kept fighting, but he just hit me again and again,” Conan clenched his teeth, pressing his eyes shut and trying to regulate his breathing. “I suppose I must’ve been screaming the whole time, but I don’t remember hearing anything. I just remember him getting spooked and trying to run when the police came, and someone coming to get me.” She finished, and as she sat there trembling, Conan desperately wanted to hold her, to wash away the memory of all that happened, but he was powerless to do so.

  
Martin nodded. “Thank you, Miss Damel. I just have a few questions. First,” he looked down at his notes. “Are you able to remember exactly where you were when he first assaulted you?”

  
“I was halfway between my building and the gas station on the corner, maybe five yards from the alley,” she said.  
“Good, good,” Martin replied. “And could you describe what he looked like?” 

  
Dawn thought for a moment. “White guy, brown hair. Maybe six feet tall and 220-ish pounds. Craggy face. Probably about 40.”

  
“That’s good, thank you,” Martin scribbled in his notebook. “And—“

  
“Excuse me,” Conan interrupted him. “Not to be…but I’m curious why you’re asking these questions?” he looked back and forth between Dawn and the detective. “I mean, they caught the guy red-handed, right? Why would you need that information?”

  
Detective Martin looked at him, then at Dawn, flipped his notebook shut, and sighed heavily. “Well, I’m asking because the perp is claiming he wasn’t properly mirandized by the arresting officer.”

  
Conan’s stomach turned to ice. “What does that mean?”

  
“It means,” Martin began. “That there’s a chance, when this goes to trial, it will be considered an unlawful arrest and he won’t be charged with a crime.”

  
“ _What_?!” Conan practically yelled, jumping to his feet. “How is that even _possible_? They saw him doing it!” He was shaking, hands fisted at his sides.

  
Martin held out a hand. “We’re going to do everything possible to prevent that from happening, though unfortunately Miss Damel,” he gestured in Dawn’s direction. “It is likely you will have to testify in court.”

  
Dawn stared for a minute, before nodding slowly, and Conan noticed her eyes didn’t seem to be focusing on anything. Sitting back down, he reached for her hand once more. 

  
“Alright, my last question Miss Damel, did you notice anyone else on the street that night, anyone who might have seen what happened?”

  
She shook her head. “No, no one.” Her voice sounded far away and she didn’t look at the detective as she responded.

  
“Well, that’s all I have. Thank you very much for all your help,” he said, tucking his notebook back in his pocket and retrieving a business card. “That’s my information if you think of anything else. Hope you’re feeling better soon.” Placing the card on the table in front of her, Detective Martin made his goodbyes and left.

  
Dawn sat quietly, staring into the middle distance, hand limp in his own. 

  
“Honey?” Conan asked softly, jiggling her hand a little. 

  
She turned, bringing him into focus. “Yeah, sorry, I just…the thought of…” she swallowed hard. “The thought of going into a courtroom and-and sitting across from that…that…” she lifted her twisted hand to cover her mouth, face crumbling as tears fell from her eyes and her body shuddered.

  
“Hey, hey…” Conan leaned in, holding her hand and rubbing it with the other. “That’s…that’s a long way down the line, okay? And when the time comes, we’ll face it together. I’ll be right there.”

  
Dawn nodded. “Th-thank you,” she said, voice watery.

  
“I’m right here,” he kissed her hand and she brought it up to her face, holding it up to her cheek for a moment before letting it return to her side, taking a deep breath to separate herself from what had passed and prepare herself for what lay ahead.  
—-

An hour or so later the doctor entered, clipboard in hand. “Well, Miss Damel,” he said looking through her chart. “Now that we know you don’t have any broken ribs, or internal injuries, there’s not much more we can do for you here. Your bloodwork looks good, so we’ll discharge you tomorrow morning.”

  
“Sounds good, thank you,” she said.

  
“I’ll send you home with some painkillers, and you’ll want to keep icing that,” he gestured to her face. “But other than that the injuries will just take time. We will also send you home with some referrals for counseling, if you like.”

  
Dawn nodded. “Thank you, doctor.”

  
He left and Conan and Dawn made a plan. When Conan went home that night, he packed some clothing, his shower things, toothbrush, and a couple of books. Questioning whether or not he should bring a guitar, he decided against it, figuring he’d be able to get his fix at the office if he really needed it.

  
The next morning he got up early and hailed a cab to Dawn’s apartment. Grateful he had her keys and didn’t have to face the chain-smoking landlord this time, he went inside and grabbed some fresh clothes, dropping off his bag before heading back out and grabbing another cab to the hospital. 

  
Dawn was surprised how difficult it was to do things with three fingers out of commission. As she struggled to pull up and zip the jeans Conan brought her, she finally broke down and asked for help.

  
“Have to admit…” Conan grinned as he affixed the button. “It’s a little strange putting your clothes _on_.”

  
She chuckled. “Yeah. Counterintuitive.”

  
Dawn undid the string of her gown behind her neck and let it fall away, picking up the white bra Conan brought her and pulling it around herself, clasps in front.

  
“Shit,” she muttered. “I need help with this, too.”

  
Conan walked up to her, clearing his throat and did up the little metallic hoops as quickly as possible. It was difficult being this close to her and being unable to caress her skin.

  
“Thanks,” she said, pulling on the t-shirt without assistance. Before long a nurse came in with her discharge papers, meds, and an empty wheelchair. Conan carried her purse and walked a little ways behind as they made their way to the entrance, jogging out to hail a cab before stepping back in to walk Dawn outside, open her door, and run around to the other side.  
Reversing the process when they got to her building, Conan led her inside. 

  
“Do you need anything?” He asked.

  
Dawn ran a hand through her hair. “I need to take a shower. I feel so gross,” she frowned.

  
“Are you going to need any help?”

  
She shook her head. “If you could just unbutton my jeans and unhook the bra, I think I’ll be able to take it from there.”

  
Conan did, and Dawn disappeared into the shower. Everything took a little longer, but she was indeed able to manage it on her own, though for a moment she forgot about her face and put it directly under the water stream, wincing. After she felt a hundred times better, and as she padded across the living room wrapped in a towel, Conan craned his head over the couch.

  
She pulled on loose shorts and a tank and walked out to the living room. “I think I’m going to take a nap,” she said. The painkillers were making her more tired than she expected.

  
Conan turned to face her. “Can I join you?”

  
She hesitated for a second.

  
“Hey, don’t worry about it, I can sleep on the couch. It’s not a big deal,” he held up his hands.

  
Dawn shifted her weight back and forth. “No, um…I mean as long as…as long as we’re just…sleeping,” she swallowed. “Yeah. Okay.”

  
“Are you sure?” 

  
She looked up, nodding. “Yeah. Yeah, I am.”

  
Conan stood and followed her, sliding into the bed. They lay side by side, untouching, Conan staring blankly at the ceiling.

  
“Conan?” She asked.

  
“Yeah?”

  
“Can we switch sides?”

  
“What?” 

  
“Sides of the bed. Can we switch?”

  
“Uhh…sure.” Conan was confused, but he stood up and walked around the bed while Dawn scooted to the other side. Getting back in, Conan pulled the covers back over himself and they were quiet again.

  
“Hey Conan?” She asked again.

  
“Yeah?”

  
Dawn paused. He turned to face her and saw she curled to face him. “Could I…could I hold you?” Her voice was small as she looked at him questioningly.

  
“Oh…” Conan gathered his brow. “You mean like…like how I usually hold you when we sleep?” He asked.

  
She nodded. “If that would be okay…”

  
Shrugging, Conan smiled at her. “Of course.”

  
Flipping over, he moved back a little and felt Dawn nestle against him, the curve of her body pressed against his, Conan’s long limbs extending comically past her own. After a moment he realized she wanted to switch sides so she wouldn’t be laying on the damaged side of her face. As odd as it felt being the little spoon, Conan had to admit he didn’t dislike it, and it wasn’t long before his eyes grew heavy. Arm wrapped around him, he was careful not to disturb Dawn’s splinted fingers as he rejoiced in her warmth.  
—-

Conan took the rest of the week off. There was no point in going back now anyway, since he hadn’t written a sketch for the week, so he spent his time helping Dawn acclimate. She found that things got easier as time went on. She figured out how to make the most of the pinky and thumb on her right hand, and after two days of on-again, off-again icing even she could see the swelling going down in her face, now able to peer a little bit out of her right eye. On Friday she went in for her follow-up doctor’s appointment and they didn’t find any damage to the eye itself, which was a relief.

  
Dawn was incredibly impressed with Conan. Ready to get her anything she needed at a moment’s notice, he even attempted to cook her breakfast one morning, though this resulted in a burnt thumb, a screeching fire alarm, and several yelled expletives. From then on he went to the deli to get various prepared items for them to share, or ordered take out, and she was grateful. 

  
On Monday, after repeated reassurance, Conan went into work. Unaware it was Dennis Hopper week until about ten minutes before he strolled into pitch behind Lorne, Conan had no choice but to make up some _Apocalypse Now_ -related bullshit that would never come to be.

  
Following Odenkirk to his office, Conan clapped him on the shoulder, “Hey man, wanna work together this week?”

  
“Sure, come on,” Bob led him to his office. ”So where were you last week?” he asked as they sat down.

  
Conan looked at the floor, chewing on the inside of his lip. “Um…something happened...” he swallowed. “To Dawn.”

  
Bob’s eyebrows gathered. “What do you mean? Is she okay?”

  
Looking off to the side, Conan sighed. “She’s home now, but, um…she was in the hospital. Someone attacked her.”

  
“Holy shit, man,” Bob sat back in his chair. “I’m sorry. But she’s gonna be okay?”

  
Conan looked at the ceiling, then down at the floor, chin in his hand. “I don’t…I don’t know…” Fighting hard, he clenched his jaw and one leg shook underneath his elbow. 

  
Bob reached out and put a hand on his shoulder. “That’s awful, man. I hope it all works out soon.”  
Conan nodded, sitting back and turning his head slightly to wipe his eyes, which Bob politely ignored. “Thanks, Bob. Alright, let’s…let’s get to it.”  
—-

Arriving at Dawn’s place, Conan found her watching tv and greeted her briefly before stepping into the bedroom to change into a t-shirt and boxers, joining her on the couch. They watched peacefully for a few moments, and when the program came to an end, Dawn reached over and turned it off. 

  
“Hey, so…” she turned to face him. “You know how I had that therapy appointment today?” Conan nodded. “So I was talking with her about what happened, and you, and sex, and everything…” Dawn swallowed. “And we discussed how if I want to get back into sex, which I do,” she flipped her eyes up to meet his and Conan felt a jolt shoot down his spine. “I may have to do it on my own terms for a while.”

  
“Okay…” Conan said, tilting his head. 

  
“And we also talked about how, like with a lot of things, when you’re afraid, the best thing to do is get…” she exhaled out of her nose slowly.”Right back on the horse.”

  
Conan clenched his jaw. “Okay, so…”

  
“So, I’d like to try something.”

  
“Alright, what’s that?” He asked.

  
Dawn picked at the couch. “Well I still don’t think I’m ready for, you know, everything. But I want to…get on top and kind of just…rub together…if that’s okay…” she continued looking down.

  
Conan stared. “Yeah that’s…that’s, yeah…”After more than a week without touching her, anything sounded exquisite.

  
“And I know it’s a lot to ask,” she said. “But if you could not…touch me? Maybe?”

  
“Absolutely,” he nodded. “Not a problem.”

  
Dawn swallowed hard. “Okay then, um…” And she looked over at him, guiding his arms to the back of the couch before throwing her leg over his lap unceremoniously. Conan tried to catch her eye, but she wasn’t meeting his glance. Scooting forward a little, Dawn reached down with her good hand and began massaging his cock through his boxers lightly. Breathing hard through his nose, Conan watched her, eyes downcast as she gently coaxed him until he was fully erect. 

  
Nudging her hips forward until she could feel him between her legs, Dawn began to slowly raise and lower herself, rubbing against the hard column of Conan’s cock. With her split lip only half healed she couldn’t really kiss him, but she raised nervous hands and buried them in his fluffy orange hair, pressing her forehead to his as she clenched and released her thighs. Desiring more friction, she ground down, breathing hard above him as she swiveled forward. Conan gripped the back of the couch, head falling back, Dawn tucking her head into the crook of his neck and swirling above him, he couldn’t help but thrust up into her with the tiniest of movements. Panting against his ear, Conan could feel her wetness through the fabric as Dawn’s movements became frantic. She started moaning and digging her fingers into his scalp, and soon her legs began to shake around him, her body curving against his before relaxing into gasping breaths.

  
Conan held still, body alive with tension while she recovered on top of him. Climbing off, Dawn looked over at him and noticed his anxious cock still straining against his boxers. 

  
“Oh, I’m sorry, I thought…” she began.

  
He shook his head. “Don’t worry about it, I can take care of it.” He started to stand, but she held out a hand to stop him. 

  
“No, it’s alright, I…I want to.”

  
Conan looked at her and placed a hand on her arm. “Are you sure?”

  
“Yeah,” she nodded. “Hang on.” She got up and switched to his other side so she would have access with her good hand. Nuzzling his neck with her head, she licked her palm and crept her fingers below the waistband of his boxers, taking him in hand. As she began to pump, Conan’s eyes dropped shut and his head fell back. Working her wrist quickly, Dawn tugged hard, bringing Conan to the cliffs of his orgasm in a matter of minutes, letting out a groan as his cum shot over her knuckles and onto his shirt. 

  
Conan desperately wanted to kiss her, but he knew the stitches in her lower lip had yet to dissolve, so he restrained himself. Rising to clean themselves up, and change on Conan’s part, they headed to bed. 

  
“Conan?” Dawn whispered into the dark.

  
“Hmm?”

  
He could almost hear her fidgeting. “Would you hold me?” It was the first time he let her since it happened.

  
“I’d love to,” he murmured. Dawn turned her body into his and Conan wrapped a long arm around her, drawing close and pressing his face against her mass of fragrant hair. She tucked his arm up near her chest, brushing his knuckles with her lips and Conan kissed the back of her neck, letting out a deep hum. As the moonlight cast the room in blues and grays, their breathing slowed and their bodies relaxed, comforted by the solace of one another’s presence. 


	7. 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Continued trauma recovery described in this chapter. Also, apologies but I’m going back to the previous version of formatting as I’ve found it to be easier.
> 
> Also, I was made aware that I confused the sketch Conan appears in with Tom Hanks in 1990 with one he appears in during a show in 1988, so the wrong one is described here. Apologies.

When the new episode of _Law and Order_ came to an end, Dawn turned to Conan.  
“I think I want to go back to work on Monday.”  
Conan narrowed his eyes at her. “Really? Don’t you think it’s a little…fast?” He was concerned about her getting overwhelmed, pushing herself too hard, and he also didn’t want her to go back and face the inevitable barrage of questions when everyone saw her face.  
Shaking her head, Dawn said, “No, you know, I think it’ll be good for me. I’m going stir crazy just sitting around here and I have too much time to think.” A shadow passed over her and Conan frowned. “I think the distraction will be good.”  
Conan nodded. “Alright, well, if you’re sure.”  
“I am,” she said. “Who’s hosting this week?”   
“John Goodman.”  
“Ooh,” Dawn smiled. “Should be fun.”  
—-

On Monday as she stood before the mirror, Dawn studied her face and stared down at her makeup bag. Both eyes almost matched in size now, but the bruising was still gruesome. Fingering her lip she could still feel the stitches, but could tell they were beginning to dissolve. She looked down at her splinted fingers, tried to flex them and grimaced, regretting it. Deciding that any ineffectual attempt to cover the bruises wouldn’t prevent anyone from gawking, she tossed the bag aside, catching a cab with Conan to Rockefeller Plaza.   
As she walked down the hallway to her office Dawn saw eyes widen and mouths fall open, whispering following behind. Conan desperately wanted to place his hand at her lower back, or just plain hide her from view, anything to make the process easier, but he walked alongside her silently until she got to her office and said goodbye, disappearing inside.  
Heading to pitch earlier than usual, Dawn stopped by Conan’s office. Door open, she knocked on the frame to announce herself.  
“Hey there,” he spun around.  
“Hey,” she smiled. “Wanted to see what you were thinking for Goodman?”  
Conan stood up and stretched. “Thinking of doing a Church Lady with Dana. You wanna work with us on it?” Conan knew a Church Lady sketch didn’t need two writers. So, likely, did Dawn. But it was her first week back and there was a primal part of him that wanted to keep her close by.  
“Sure, sounds fun,” she grinned. “Should we head to Lorne’s?”  
Conan followed her and they claimed two chairs on the side of the room. People filing in kept sneaking glances over at her, looking away quickly when she caught their eye. When nearly everyone was there, but Lorne, as usual, had not yet arrived, Dawn stood up and cleared her throat.  
“Um…excuse me, everybody?” She raised her voice. “I’d like to get this out of the way all at once so I don’t have the same conversation 50 times today,” Dawn spread her hands. “I was mugged.” Conan shifted in his seat, swallowing. “Yes, they caught the guy. Yes, I am okay. Though expect a few extra typos for a while,” she held up her hand and got a polite chuckle from the room. “Thanks everybody. That’s it.”  
Dawn sat down and the people closest to her made their ‘get well soon’s’ and ‘glad to hear you’re okay’s’ before Lorne entered followed by John Goodman. Pitch was a blast, Goodman was an amiable host, cracking up and open to ideas. After wrapping, Dawn followed Conan to his office and Dana joined them. Coming up with a slew of ideas, only so many of which fit in the sketch, Dawn let Conan do the actual typing so as to avoid the chicken pecking with her thumb and pinky.   
Finishing before 9:00, relatively early for a Monday, Conan and Dawn decided to check out a new Italian place down the block that the other writers raved about. Sitting down, the waiter came to take their order and they decided to split a bottle of wine.  
“I’ll be right back.” Dawn got up and went to the restroom. As she washed her hands a short woman with graying hair came in, stopped in her tracks and stared. Rifling in her purse, she pulled out a card and walked up to Dawn, setting it down next to her on the basin.   
“Honey, whenever you’re ready to get away from him, you just call this number, okay?” Dawn picked up the card with her good hand. 

_The Dwelling Place Women’s Shelter_

It took her half a second to put it together. “Oh no!” She waved a hand. “He doesn’t—“  
But the woman placed a hand on her shoulder. “I’ve heard all of the explanations for them before, dear. Just please. Think about it. Because he won’t stop there.” She gestured to her face and Dawn realized there was probably nothing she could say to this woman, with the terrible things she’d witnessed, that would convince her of the truth, so she just thanked her and left.  
Rejoining Conan, she explained what happened.   
“Oh god,” he felt nauseous. “I didn’t think about that.”  
“Me neither,” Dawn shook her head. Just then the gray-haired woman left the bathroom and walked out of the restaurant, giving Conan a scathing look as she passed.  
“Shit,” Conan rubbed his eyes.   
“Well,” Dawn sighed.”I am very glad there are people like her out there, though. Because I bet this is the only time she’s been wrong.”  
They sat quietly for a moment and their meals arrived, but neither of them felt much like eating anymore. Pushing their food around for awhile, they gave up and requested to-go boxes.  
“Was there something wrong?” The waiter asked, looking between them and their full plates.   
“Oh no, everything is great, thank you,” Conan forced a smile.   
As they exited the restaurant, he noticed it. People, particularly women, would look at Dawn, register her face, and then they would look at _him_. And it was always a look of deepest loathing, as if he was something disgusting they’d discovered on the bottom of their shoe.   
Arriving at Dawn’s, they tried to shake off the evening by watching a movie, but neither of them could focus. Going to bed without talking much, Conan slept restlessly, suspecting Dawn did the same.  
The next day Dawn attempted to cover the bruises with makeup, so at least people far away wouldn’t make assumptions. It was glaringly obvious she had a ton of makeup on one side of her face, but she deemed it good enough and joined Conan in the living room where he was pulling his bag overhead. Seeing her face, he didn’t say anything, but swallowed hard.  
Arriving at work they decided to work on a second sketch for the week, a group piece on _The MacLaughlin Group_ that was mostly an excuse to showcase Carvey being ridiculous. After a couple of hours they were able to relax and laugh, Dana entertaining them with his various impressions and characters, inevitably “on” at all hours of the day.   
With all of the horsing around they didn’t get the polished product complete until nearly midnight, and they submitted it before heading out and catching a cab back to Dawn’s.  
They took off their coats and discarded their bags on the kitchen table.   
Dawn walked up to him, pulling him to her by the front of his shirt.   
“Hey there…”  
Putting a hand on her shoulder, he stopped her. “What about your lip?”  
She reached up and touched it. “It’s still a little tender, but as long as you don’t nibble on it or anything I think we’ll be okay.”  
Nodding, Conan leaned in and kissed her, and it was like someone lifted a suit of armor from his shoulders. He had no idea how much he’d missed this, the taste of her, the feel of their tongues melding together, the way her delicate fingers worked into his scalp, the glow of her warm body against him.   
Dawn led him backwards to the couch, directing him to sit and once more placing his arms along the back. Looking him in the eye, she gave him a tiny nod, which he returned. Undoing her jeans, she pulled them to the floor along with her underwear and Conan felt his cock throb against his thigh. The sound of blood rushed in his ears as she leaned forward to undo his jeans, businesslike as she pulled them along with his boxers down toward his knees. Breathing fast through his nose, he looked up at her as she straddled him, grateful when her emerald eyes looked back into his own, sparkling with lust. Reaching down she grasped his cock, tugging gently until he was fully erect, eyes glued on his.   
Dawn raised herself up on her knees a little, holding him in place before sinking down, head falling back.  
“Ah, _fuck_ ,” Conan groaned when she encased him, as she held still, head tipped back, eyes shut for a moment, just breathing. Opening them, she attacked him without warning, mouth mashing against his, hands roaming over his head and shoulders, suddenly bouncing up and down on him with abandon, starting to breathe hard. Unsure what to do, he gripped the back of the couch, doing his best to keep up with her needy mouth. Dawn put a hand between her legs, massaging her own clit furiously and began to moan against Conan’s mouth, riding him like he was about to leave for war.  
Inadvertently Conan found himself gently tipping his hips up to meet her own, unsure how much longer he could hold on if she maintained this intense pace. Digging his fingers into the couch and clenching his jaw, she moved above him in such a frenzy, nails of her free hand clawing his shoulder, that he was concerned.  
Dawn began to quite literally shout, and as she tightened around him Conan heard himself whimpering but could do nothing to stop it as he came moments before the final seizing of her body began, hanging on desperately as she gradually relaxed onto his body.  
He could hear her shuddering breath over his shoulder, and he wanted so badly to wrap his arms around her, but he sat resolutely still.  
“Are you okay?” He asked, voice barely above a whisper.  
Nodding against him, unmoving, he felt the warmth of her breath against his neck. “Yeah, I’m…yeah. Sorry. I just…I guess I was just feeling a lot of things about..” he could hear her swallowing. “And that’s how it came out. I feel better now but…drained.”  
Conan nodded. He knew he couldn’t hold her, so he laid his head against hers, face filling with her fragrant auburn hair.  
“Do you need anything?” He asked softly.  
“Let’s just go to bed.” Dawn pulled back, extricating herself, and Conan noticed her eyes shone with unshed tears. Heart squeezing, he wished there was more he could do, but he knew there were some things she’d have to face herself with time and therapy.  
Following her to bed, they climbed in together and Dawn pulled Conan’s arms around her. The steady beat of his heart radiating through her back was comforting, and she gathered his hand to her chest.  
“I love you, Conan,” she spoke into the darkness.  
Conan drew his arms together tightly. “I love you, Dawn.”  
—-

Standing before the dreaded board, they smiled. Somehow both of their sketches had been picked. Conan supposed it wasn’t surprising, almost anything Dana did was a guaranteed crowd pleaser, but he rejoiced that Dawn experienced a successful first week back.   
It was snowing when they emerged Rockefeller Plaza that evening, and the cab driver crept along, carefully navigating the slippery roads. When they arrived at Dawn’s building, they unraveled themselves from their winter gear, discarding it on the kitchen chairs.  
“Hey, so I wanted to talk to you about something,” Conan said, his face bright pink from the cold.  
“Hmm?”  
“You know I’m spending a lot of time here,” he began.  
“Oh,” Dawn turned to him. “Did you want to go home? You don’t have to stay here if you don’t want to, you know. I’m fine now.” She tipped her head in concern.  
Conan laughed. “No, no. I mean, I’m hardly spending any time at my place, it just seems silly…” he shrugged. “You know, us paying for two places….”  
“Oh, oh…” It became clear to Dawn what he was saying. “So you want to—?”  
“Live together, yes.” Conan nodded. “I know it hasn’t been long, but, um…” he cleared his throat. “We love each other, and after the long hours at the studio, I think we know by now we won’t kill each other.”  
“Yeah, yeah, that sounds great.”  
“Yeah?” Conan grinned.  
Dawn’s face broke into a wide smile and she nodded enthusiastically, running forward and jumping on him. Conan caught her, laughing and spinning her around a couple of times before setting her on top of the table and kissing her.  
“I think though,” she suggested. “We should look for a new place. A two bedroom if we can find a decent one.”  
Conan nodded as he ran his hands up and down her waist, dipping into kiss her every couple of seconds. “Good idea.”  
Catching his mouth and holding it, Dawn tucked her ankles behind his thighs, drawing him in. She reached down and pulled his shirt over his head, fingers lovingly caressing the orange chest hair that sprinkled his slender frame. Fiddling behind herself, Dawn undid the clasp on her bra and pulled it out of her sleeve.   
“Conan,” Dawn reached up a hand to take him by the back of the neck and peering into his oceanic eyes.  
“Yeah?”  
“ _I miss your hands on me_ ,” she breathed.   
Conan felt a tremor that started deep and radiated outwards. “Are you sure?” She just nodded, still holding his gaze. “Okay, but, if you need me to stop anything, you just tell me, okay?”   
“I will.”  
Leaning forward their tongues began to twirl and Conan timidly slid his hand up her shirt like a high school sophomore trying to make his first move. As he cupped her breast, he let out a little noise, nearly having forgotten just how soft she was. Massaging her, Conan reached down with his other hand to tug her shirt overhead. Once exposed, his hands explored hungrily, running over her arms, her breasts, curling into her hair. Meanwhile, Dawn undid his jeans, submerging her hand to lightly trace his hardening cock.   
Pushing his jeans down, Conan stepped back and kicked them off the rest of the way while Dawn undid the zipper on her own, laying back on the table so he could pull them free. Kissing her insistently, Conan broke away for a moment.  
“Can I touch you?” He asked, eyes flicking down between her legs.  
Dawn nodded. “Yeah.”  
Conan leaned in, brushing his lips against the sensitive skin just below her ear and breathed against her neck. “ _Can I taste you?_ ”  
Her hands tightened on the table. “Yes, _fuck_ , please.”  
Conan smirked at her, rubbing her thighs before sneaking his fingers between her legs, delicately petting her as he joined their mouths, parting both sets of lips at the same time and circling her clit as their tongues intertwined. Growing wet, Dawn released soft sounds of pleasure as Conan began kissing his way down her neck, licking and nibbling at her collarbone and massaging her breast with his free hand before sliding his tongue below her navel and kneeling, inching his face toward her warm entrance.  
Opening her, Conan dove forth, licking in small circles at first before stimulating her clit with just the tip of his tongue. Reaching back to grab her ass, holding firmly, he pressed forward and secured his lips around her clit, sucking lightly and was pleasantly rewarded when her hands bunched themselves in his hair. He’d missed this, the way every flick and lick could provoke a twitch or moan, her panting above him, vulnerable and losing herself in the sensations between her thighs.  
Dawn ground forward, her heels digging into Conan’s back as she ached for friction. Resisting the urge to stroke his own swollen cock, Conan took his hand and slid two of his long fingers deep inside of her, curving upwards and pulsing against the sensitive spot that resided there. Crying out, Dawn’s body curved over him, rocking forward rapidly and beginning to convulse as she came. Moans becoming wordless, Dawn’s eyes rolled back in her head as her body cascaded with tremors.   
Wiping his face and standing, Dawn looked as though she was struggling to hold herself upright, pale skin a bright pink and eyes heavy. Conan felt his cock twitch in response.   
“Ready?” He asked, stepping forward and cupping her face in his freckled hand. Dawn nodded and he entered her, letting out a deep hum. Dawn held him close, mouths weaving together as Conan rolled his hips forward, placing his thumb on her clit and working it with steady pressure. Bodies flowing, the melody of their lust tumbled from their lips, breath catching and releasing with rapidity as they crept toward release. Constricting around him, Dawn tipped Conan into oblivion, hands clutching her sweating body close as she trembled and deflated.  
Parting, Dawn hopped off of the table only to find her legs shook beneath her. They picked up the strewn about clothing and headed to bed, pulling on fresh shirts and shorts before getting under the covers. Dawn’s bedroom ran cold in the winter, and they snuggled close, blankets drawn up to Conan’s neck and hiding everything below Dawn’s nose. Conan rubbed his big feet together furiously, attempting to create heat, and Dawn tucked her toes underneath his legs.  
“Hey, your feet are cold,” he complained.  
Dawn laughed. “Deal with it, O’Brien.”   
Chuckling, he pinched her ass, causing her to squeal before constricting his arms and brushing his lips across the base of her neck. They played with one another in the chilly darkness, cursing the malfunctioning heat; shivering, giggling, and feeling blessed.  
—-

On Friday they stood among the cluster of writers and various cast, watching the rehearsal. Watching Dana perform his Church Lady routine out of the dress and wig was always a little disorienting, but hilarious nonetheless, and even after all these years Conan still marveled at seeing his words come to life.  
Dana came to them, holding up the script. “I was running this,” he pointed at the page. “And I can’t put my finger on it, but this line here feels a little flat.”  
Holding it between himself and Dawn, they looked down.  
“You know,” she said. “Maybe we need a little more build up before you go into that rant about Jack’s name.” Tapping a finger against her chin, she thought for a moment, eyes suddenly going wide. “Hey, why don’t you call Buchanan ‘Patty Patty Buch Buch’ or something like that, just here?” Dawn referenced the previous line directed at Phil Hartman. Dana and Conan laughed, and she jotted it in the margins.  
Watching them run through the sketch, Dawn was amazed the rest of them managed not to break as Carvey went full bore, cutting each of them off abruptly with increasingly ridiculous dialogue and ramping up as the sketch progressed. As it drew to a close, Dawn watched Conan laugh, rocking back, hands on his upper belly and eyes clenched tight, nose wrinkled, stopping after to wipe his eyes.   
“Hey,” Dawn nudged him as Dana and the others walked off the set and the crew prepared for the next sketch. “Can I show you something in my office?” She made her eyebrows dance.  
Conan swallowed a sly smile, looking from side to side. “Yeah, alright. Let’s go.”  
Walking to the hallway, Conan trailed casually behind, entering her office a couple of moments later and locking the door behind him.  
Grabbing him by the collar, Dawn walked backward and fell on the couch, giggling as Conan lay on top of her, growling. Spreading her legs, Conan cupped her ass as they kissed, the other hand bunched in her hair as he rotated his hips against her. Conan broke away, standing and pulling off her jeans and underwear as she awkwardly tried to undo and remove her bra at the same time, nearly overbalancing and falling off the couch. Unzipping his pants and lowering them just enough to expose his stiff cock, Conan crawled back on top, fingers sliding between her thighs swiftly as she reached down and closed his erection in her warm fist.   
“ _Just fuck me_ ,” she breathed under his mouth and Conan nodded, slipping inside with a gentle groan and kissing her neck. Before long they rocked together in an anxious rhythm, unaware of anything other than the joining of their bodies as their flesh flowed and ebbed. Soft moans began to escape Dawn’s throat, and Conan reached his free hand up to cover her mouth when—  
_WHAM_! Something collided hard with the side of his head.  
“ _Fuck_!” He gasped as his teeth clicked together, but before he even got the word out, two hands on his chest shoved him violently. Going over the arm of the couch, he fell to the floor sprawling, head just missing the corner of the coffee table. “What the _fuck_?!” Conan rubbed his elbow, flaring up, but then he looked at Dawn’s face.  
Eyes wide with fear, she was shaking, hands fisted at her side and up on her knees. Then it was like she saw the room, saw him, for the first time, and her expression melted.   
“Oh, _oh my_ , Conan, are you okay?” She reached out and he stood, unsure if he should join her on the couch or not. “Oh honey, I’m sorry, I’m _so sorry_ , it’s just when your hand went over my mouth…” Dawn’s eyes looked pained and Conan felt sick. How could I have forgotten about that? “And it…I don’t know, I didn’t even think, it just happened,” she was talking to herself now, looking down at her hands. “It was like suddenly I was back there and…and…” Conan saw her lip quiver and her face crumpled.   
Dawn put her head in her hands. “I’m sorry…” came her muffled voice through her fingers.  
Sitting down, Conan was hesitant to touch her. “You don’t have anything to be sorry about, okay?” He said, voice soft but direct. “That was a perfectly normal reaction, considering what happened, and I should’ve…” Conan shook his head and puffed out his cheeks, exhaling. “I just can’t believe I didn’t think about it. I’m the one who should be sorry.”   
Placing his hand between them on the couch, Conan watched quietly as she composed herself, wiping her face and sniffing. She reached out and squeezed his hand.  
“Thank you.”  
He shrugged, giving her a half smile. “No problem.”  
Dawn began to gather her clothes from the floor and Conan buttoned himself up, smoothing his unruly hair and massaging his elbow. As someone so fair he bruised easily, and he could only imagine what it would look like tomorrow.  
Deciding it wasn’t worth going back to watch the end of rehearsal, they went back to Dawn’s place, ordering Thai before heading to bed, drained from the day.  
—-

  
The studio buzzed. It was Tom Hanks week, and more than that, he was being inducted into the Five-Timer’s Club. Pitch and the table read had been a riot, and even though Conan’s sketch for Hanks didn’t get picked, his character for Weekend Update did, so he was content.   
Conan paced back and forth backstage, picking at the fake bandage on his hand. He’d been drafted once again for a small role on the show. He was to be part of Tom Hanks’ nice guy-themed monologue, holding onto a horse and warning Tom away from it. As he waited for them to call action, he saw Dawn stroll up to him.  
“Hey, how’s it going?” She asked, looking around before subtly tugging on the bottom of his denim vest.  
“Oh, alright,”  
“Nervous?”  
Conan shrugged. “A little. Having a line on the air, I always worry about stumbling, you know? But it’s not a big deal.”  
Beaming, Dawn leaned her body into him just a little. “You’re going to be great.” Desperately wishing she could hold him, could kiss him, to reassure him and send him off with a smile, Dawn had to settle for a quick squeeze of his wrist and they made their goodbyes.   
Watching from the side as Hanks rolled by and Conan delivered his line, Dawn swelled with pride. Maybe it was a bit silly, being moved by Conan looking ridiculous standing next to a horse and wearing a fake bloody bandage on one hand, but part of her knew that he yearned for this, whether he admitted it or not. Dawn could see it whenever they hung out in the group. It was almost like watching him wake up in the morning. Though his face and body were there in the moments before he started to perform for a crowd, they were dormant, at rest. But when he turned it on…he would start to glow and sparkle in a way that was indescribable and effortlessly funny. Jokes and scenarios occurred to him with lightning-like rapidity, comedy electrifying the room, and everyone in his vicinity was powerless against his onslaught of joy.  
Handing off the horse to the handler, Conan saw Dawn waiting for him and grinned.  
“That went well!” She said cheerily.  
Conan rubbed her arm with the back of his fingers and she gently pressed her shoulder against him. “Aw, thanks.”   
“Hello,” came a familiar drawl. They turned to the source of the sound to see Lorne leaning on the wall. Both stood for a moment, open mouthed and silent.  
“Uh, hey Lorne, how’s it going?” Dawn finally choked out, unconsciously taking half a step away from Conan.  
Lorne nodded. “Well, thank you.” He looked back at them with his calm, solemn face, but did not elaborate.  
“Well…” Conan rubbed the back of his neck. “Have a good rest of your night.”   
“You too.” Lorne’s face was inscrutable.  
They scurried away, and once they got outside they finally took a breath in the crisp December air. Deciding to spend the night at Conan’s, they started walking through the sparse falling snowflakes.  
“That was rough,” Conan said.  
Sighing, Dawn shook her head. “Yeah.”  
“What are you thinking?”  
“I don’t know,” Dawn shrugged. “I mean, Bonnie knows, Bob knows…I think maybe it’s time to face the music that we can’t hide this any more.”  
Conan nodded. “Yeah, yeah, I think you’re right.”  
“So we go to Lorne on Monday?”  
He reached over and enveloped her gloved hand in his own. “Sure.”  
Stepping into Conan’s apartment, he was struck by the fact that it smelled odd. Not bad, just foreign, as he had spent so little time there over the past few weeks. He and Dawn had started to check the paper for a new place, and had even gone to look at one last Sunday that was vaguely horrifying. There weren’t many good places hitting the market during winter in New York.  
After shedding their winter gear, they ordered a pizza, chewing on the couch in front of the TV. Finishing, Conan picked up their plates and brought them to the sink.   
Dawn turned off the TV and stretched. “Bed?”  
Conan nodded sleepily and followed her to his room. Sliding under the blankets, Dawn turned to him, scratching at the front of his shirt and jiggling him with one foot, yawning.  
“So…?” She raised an eyebrow.  
Conan knew what she was asking. He shrugged, rubbing his eyes. “Would you be okay with like, the Diet Coke variety?”  
Dawn raised an eyebrow. “What?”  
“You know,” he grinned. “No frills, right to business.”  
She laughed. “For sure, sounds good to me.”  
Pulling off her shorts and tossing them aside while Conan reached down to get himself hard, Dawn positioned herself underneath him, spitting into her hand and wiping it between her legs to wet herself, rubbing her clit a little. Sliding inside unceremoniously, Conan replaced her hand with his and they began kissing. Humping hard and fast, Conan broke away from her mouth for a moment to lick his fingers before reapplying them between her thighs, rotating faster, determined to get her off first. Dawn’s hips rocked eagerly and she fastened her hand to his lower back, moaning Conan’s name as a shallow orgasm made her writhe.  
Once she finished, Conan put the top of his head down into the mattress, tucking his hands under her shoulders and holding firm as he began to pound steadily until his hips jerked irregularly, breathing hot and wet against her shoulder.   
Calling her name as he came, Conan fell limp, rolling off of her and putting himself back in his boxers. Dawn retrieved her shorts from the floor, and with a quick kiss they hunkered together, falling asleep almost immediately.

  
  
  



	8. 8

Rapping his knuckles on the door, Conan took a deep breath and turned to Dawn, who gave him a smile and gently squeezed his hand.  
“Come in.”   
They opened the door to Lorne’s office to find him seated behind his familiar desk, shirtsleeves rolled up, face in its typical serene expression as various stacks of papers lay before him.   
“Hey Lorne, could we talk to you for a minute?” Dawn began.  
Lorne nodded, gesturing silently to the two open chairs in front of his desk. Shuffling towards them, they felt like two kids who had just been called to the principal’s office.   
“Well,” Conan said as they sat down. “We just wanted to come talk to you because…well, we’re in a relationship, and, uh, we felt we should disclose that to you.” He’d tried not to rush his words, not to make it sound like he was confessing some tawdry secret, but wasn’t sure he’d succeeded.  
“I see,” Lorne nodded, sticking out his lower lip. “And how long has this been going on?”   
Dawn and Conan looked to each other. “Since September,” she spoke up.  
Still nodding, Lorne lightly patted the desk. “Well,” he let out a breath through his nose. “It doesn’t seem to have affected your work, so I don’t have a problem with it,” he looked back and forth between them. “As long as that continues to be the case.”   
“Of course,” Conan replied, and Dawn nodded in agreement.  
“You’ll have to go down to HR though, make it official. That’s how they like these things. Red tape and all, you know,” Lorne said.  
“Sure, no problem.”  
Lorne offered a half smile. “Well, alright then. Thanks for telling me.”  
“Yeah, thank you Lorne,” Dawn and Conan moved to stand. “Have a good day.”  
They said goodbye and made their way down the hall. Later that day they went to HR and a business-like blonde woman in a smart forest green pant suit asked them a barrage of questions, some together, some separately, and many deeply uncomfortable. But when it was all over they felt as though a weight had been lifted.  
Dropping down on one of the couches, Conan looked to Dawn and she nodded. He casually put his arm around her shoulder and leaned back, both of them looking around as if it were any other Monday. As people trickled in, Dawn noticed a few glances in their direction, including a wide smile and a less-than-subtle thumbs up from Bonnie that made her chuckle, but a couple of the eyes looking back at her seemed to speak volumes of negative assumptions about her character. Doing her best to brush them off, Dawn looked to the door just as Lorne entered followed by Dennis Quaid.  
Pitch went well, and afterwards Conan walked Dawn back to his office. Though they’d each tossed out ideas to introduce themselves to Quaid, there was no intention of making either. Conan discussed doing an Update character with Lovitz he was calling the ‘Annoying Man,’ which, to no surprise, was right in Jon’s wheelhouse, and Dawn was working on a Sally Jessy Raphael spoof. Since she was in the early stages of brainstorming, Dawn sat on Conan’s couch, scribbling on a notepad while he plunked away at his typewriter. Dawn was finally able to remove the splints from her fingers, and though it hurt if she pressed down forcefully, she could write and type.  
Gradually Dawn heard the tinkling of the typewriter keys fade away. Looking over, she saw Conan staring blankly at the wall. He took a deep breath, slapped his knees, then reached over the side of his desk for the guitar. Cradling it lovingly, he began to strum, dexterous fingers expertly picking out The Police’s So Lonely and humming softly to himself. Watching him play was mesmerizing, the way he lost himself in the music, transported to a dimension of notes and movement, one hand skating along the neck of the guitar while the other tap danced a matching cadence, eyes closed and mind afloat on a sea of sound.   
When the song came to an end, Conan snapped back to reality and stilled the cords with a hand. “Hey,” he turned to Dawn. “So this is the last show before the holiday break.”  
“Mmhmm,” she didn’t look up from her pad.  
Clearing his throat, Conan continued. “So, uh…do you want to come down to Brookline with me?”  
Dawn paused. “You mean…meet your family?” She turned to look at him. Conan nodded. “Are you sure?” Dawn asked.  
Conan grinned. “Yeah, I want you to.”  
“Okay,” She smiled. “Okay, great.”  
—-

Christmas Eve arrived and Conan inched his way down the highway in the rental car, eyes peeled for any particularly hazardous spots as he saw a vehicle or two fishtail ahead of him. Dawn was grateful. Despite being from one of the snowiest states, she found winter driving anxiety-provoking and was happy to leave it in Conan’s capable hands.  
Deciding to stay at a nearby hotel, as crowding in at Conan’s parents’ house would be virtually impossible, they checked in, dropped off their bags, and Dawn changed into a casual green dress. Looking at herself in the mirror before applying her makeup, Dawn noticed the bruises were fading to a greenish-yellow tinge and were only tender if she pressed hard. Managing to cover them convincingly, she joined Conan and they left for the suburban home.   
As they approached the door, Dawn attempted to still her fidgeting hands. Conan opened it without knocking.  
“Hello?” He called out, stomping the snow off his shoes on the exterior mat before walking inside. A short, slightly plump woman with a kind smile greeted them, followed by a tall, lanky man whose facial features so resembled Conan’s that Dawn flashed forward to what might be thirty years from now before giving herself a gentle shake.  
“Hello dear, I’m Ruth,” Conan’s mother clasped her hand. “And this is Tom,” she tilted her head to the side and Conan’s dad lifted a hand in acknowledgment.  
“Hi, nice to meet you, I’m Dawn.”  
Ruth smiled. “Oh, Dawn, isn’t that a pretty name?” She patted her hand before letting it go. They all made their way to the living area, and as they got closer Dawn was assaulted by a cacophony of voices. Conan’s brothers and sisters, along with their partners and a smattering of scurrying children, crowded the family room and Dawn’s eyes widened. Not only was her family small, it was silent. Sometimes there would be strings of days where they never spoke to each other, so this chorus of O’Brien’s, constantly talking over one another, changing the subject and fighting for attention, was overwhelming. It also suddenly explained a few things about the man she loved.  
When it came time to get dinner ready, Dawn offered to help in the kitchen, warming when Conan’s mother complimented her knife skills as she chopped the onions and garlic. Sitting down to eat, Dawn fought to get a couple of words in. Thankfully Conan’s sister Kate drew her into a conversation about books and before she knew it they were saying their goodbyes, Ruth telling Conan to be careful on the roads for the fifth time, and making their way to the car.  
Pulling into the hotel parking lot with nothing more than a little slipping and sliding along the way, Conan and Dawn got to their room and fell back on the bed, exhausted.  
“Well?” Conan asked, turning to face her.  
Dawn smiled. “They’re great. Really.”  
“Yeah?” Conan grinned. “They liked you, too.”  
“You think so?” Dawn sat up on her side.  
Conan mimicked her. “Of course. What’s not to like?” He ran a hand over her hip. Dawn inched forward, catching his lips and tossing a leg over him. Rolling them together, Conan reached down to the hem of her dress and they both sat up so he could pull it over her head, mouths joining for a moment before Dawn pulled off his shirt as well. Casting aside the rest of their clothes, Conan’s hands explored her creamy skin, both of them winding curious fingers between each other’s legs as their tongues wove together.  
Sitting up, Conan pulled her into his lap and she reached between their legs to position herself before descending on his ample cock, sighing in relief as he filled her. Holding onto her hips, she laid back slightly, leaning on her palms with Conan’s legs on either side of her. As they began to grind together, Dawn using her heels and arms for leverage while Conan guided her hips and similarly dug his heels in, they found the hotel mattress squeaking loudly beneath them as their movements became hurried and erratic. Massaging her clit frantically with his fingers, Conan felt Dawn begin to twitch around him as her body fell back, desiring a steeper angle of penetration for the final thrusts of his cock as his own passion overwhelmed him and Conan let out a breaking moan.  
Parting and panting, they recovered for a few minutes, an awkward jumble of limbs, before getting up and putting on pajamas. Back in bed, Conan hugged Dawn close, breathing in the comforting scent of her hair, carried off to sleep in the unfamiliar hotel bed.  
The next morning as Dawn zipped up a modest purple dress, she felt something tap her arm.  
“Merry Christmas,” Conan said, holding out a small, flat box.  
Dawn smiled. “Thank you.”   
Unwrapping it, she revealed a simple silver bracelet with one gorgeous, shimmering moonstone.  
“I know you don’t really wear jewelry, but…” Conan rubbed the back of his neck. “When I saw it I thought you’d like it.”  
She pressed a hand to her chest. “I love it. Thank you,” Dawn cupped his sharp jaw with her hand and kissed him, hooking the bracelet around her wrist. “Hang on…” Jogging to her suitcase, she rummaged around inside and unearthed a rectangular package. “Merry Christmas.”  
Tearing at the paper, Conan unearthed a copy of Sid Caesar’s autobiography _Where Have I Been_?, and smiled. “Oh, thank you, I’ve been meaning to read this for a long time.”  
Dawn chuckled. “Open the cover, silly.”  
Conan flipped it open and saw that it was a signed copy. “Oh _wow_ ,” he explained. “How’d you get this?”  
Shaking her head, Dawn shrugged. “It was just sitting in this little book store in Brooklyn. The shopkeeper didn’t even know who he was. I couldn’t believe it.”  
Conan just shook his head. “Well, thank you. It’s wonderful.” He kissed her, setting the book on the bed and they made their way back to his parents’ house. Hauling in the huge box of presents, Dawn held the door open for Conan and he set it in the middle of the living room next to the preexisting mountain of packages, and if only for the sake of her bank account, Dawn was grateful she came from a small family.  
They spent the day opening gifts, talking, and having such a hefty dinner that as Conan and Dawn walked back to the car they rubbed their belly’s in discomfort. Reaching the hotel they changed and collapsed in a heap, too tired for anything but slumber.  
——

Finally finding a new place, Conan and Dawn prepared to move after the show took a break at the end of February. They had a whole three weeks of time to themselves and it felt decadent compared to the single Sundays off and stolen hours of passion in their offices. Once all the boxes were unpacked, Conan hauled the cardboard down to the curb while Dawn broke in their kitchen for the first time.   
“Almost ready,” she said, kissing Conan as he came in, face cold from outside.  
He smiled. “Smells good.”  
Pulling the lasagna from the oven, Conan got down two plates while Dawn set the salad on the table.   
“Mmm, turned out well,” Conan said around a mouthful.  
Dawn grinned. “Thanks.”  
They finished eating and did the dishes together before plunking down in front of the TV to watch the new episode of _The Simpsons_ , which had quickly become one of their favorite shows. Head thrown back in laughter, Conan gripped his belly, eyes shut tight with glee.   
“You know, the writing in this show is so stupid in the smartest way,” he continued to chuckle. “I love what they’re doing over there. Damn, I wish I could do something like that,” Conan shook his head.  
Looking at him, Dawn saw that there was a rod of seriousness buried beneath the off-hand comment. “You could, you know,” she squeezed his arm.  
“What?”  
“Do that,” Dawn nodded at the TV. “If you wanted to. Easily.”  
He smiled down at her. “You think so?”  
“I know so,” she grinned, lifting her face to give him a peck.  
Settling in, they finished the rest of the episode before heading to bed. Disrobing, Dawn slid back on the bed and Conan crawled after, hands scurrying up her skin from her legs into her hair, swiveling his thick cock against her entrance as she grew slick below him, her hands kneading the flesh of his back.   
“Mmm, fuck Conan, you could make me cum just like this,” Dawn breathed.  
Kissing her neck, Conan spoke against her skin. “Oh yeah? You like that? You like when I rub my cock against you?”  
Dawn nodded feverishly. “I love it. I love you, Conan. _I love your big cock_.”  
“Tell me. Tell me what you want,” Conan panted, rutting down against her harder with each stroke.  
“Fuck, Conan, I want you inside me, _I want you to fuck me_ ,” she moaned.  
“Yeah?” Conan growled. “ _You like it when I fuck you_?”  
Whimpering, Dawn pushed her heels into the mattress, writhing up and down. “I _need_ it. Conan, I need you to _fuck me,_ please, _please, put your cock inside me_ ,” she begged.  
Taking one last nip at her neck, Conan acquiesced, sheathing himself in one sure move of his hips before coming to his knees, lifting her hips from the bed and beginning to circle her clit with his thumb. Her upper back still against the mattress, Dawn used her feet and thighs to propel herself forward, driving Conan deep inside, hands bunched in the sheets behind her head as she moaned his name. Shiver trickling through her, Dawn came, body thrashing as Conan fought to hold her hips steady.   
Withdrawing for a moment, he flipped her over, spreading her legs and tilting her ass up before penetrating her once more, hand wedged between her body and the bed as he fiddled with her clit, entire weight resting on her back, hips pounding against the curve of her ass. Reaching back from her restricted position, Dawn curled a hand over his shoulder and could feel herself throbbing internally as his ministrations increased. Conan grabbed a handful of her messy scarlet hair and tugged, biting on the exposed line of her neck as she came again, trembling. Three final strokes finished him, and Conan relaxed on top of her, depleted.  
Removing himself and sprawling on the other side of the bed, Conan wiped the sweat from his brow while Dawn got up to get something to sleep in.  
“Will you toss me my boxers?” He asked and she threw them in his direction. Sliding his over-long legs inside, he tucked himself under the blanket and Dawn soon joined him, encircling him with a slender arm and rubbing her cheek against his chest. As they lost consciousness, surrounded by bare walls and the faint smell of fresh paint, they held one another close in the first place they could call home.  
—-

As March drew to an end, they came home from work on a Wednesday night, exhausted and grumpy. Neither of their sketches had done well at the table read for Jeremy Irons’ week, and it seemed the only shot of getting something on the air was a brief Weekend Update character Conan wrote with Jim Downey. Setting down his bag, Conan noticed the flashing red light on the answering machine and hit play as he took off his shoes.  
“Hello? This is Detective Martin with the NYPD,” Conan froze, one foot still half-encased and looked up at Dawn, whose face had gone a sickly gray. “I’m calling for Dawn Damel. I’ve been trying to reach you for some time, but it seems you moved. I’m hoping this is the right number, your previous landlady gave it to me. Please give me a call back.” The detective left a number and said goodbye before the line went dead.   
Rising to his feet tentatively, Conan noticed Dawn’s chest began to heave, hand scrambling for purchase on the counter next to her.  
“Honey, _honey_ ,” he rushed forward, grabbing her by the shoulders, guiding her to a chair as she hyperventilated. “Dawn, look at me,” he knelt down next to her. “Look at my face,” Conan put his hand gently on her solar plexus. “Breathe, Dawn. Breathe into my hand, okay? Just breathe.” He demonstrated, taking a slow, deep breath and letting it out in an exaggerated fashion. “I’m right here, Dawn, just breathe.”  
Struggling at first, Dawn was gradually able to breathe, though she still shook with every exhale.   
“Let me get you some water, okay?” Conan suggested.   
Dawn nodded, suddenly weary. Sipping gratefully, it was a long time before she spoke. “What do you think he wants?” Suddenly the glass began trembling in her hands and she fought to still them.  
“You know what? Why don’t I call right now?” Conan patted the tabletop.  
Dawn looked at the clock. “Conan, it’s almost midnight.”  
“Worst comes to worst I’ll get his machine at the precinct. It’s fine,” Conan didn’t want to, but he had to replay the message to get the number. Cradling the phone against his ear, he punched at the buttons and waited while it rang.  
“Detective David Martin,” came a gruff voice after a series of throat clearing.  
Conan hadn’t expected him to answer and wasn’t prepared. “Oh, uh…hello. This is Conan O’Brien.”  
“Who?” Martin’s scratchy voice asked.  
“Oh right, uh…I’m calling on behalf of Dawn. Dawn Damel? We had a message from you on our machine.”  
Watching Conan handle the phone call, Dawn found she was clenching her fist so tightly that her nails were digging into her palm.  
“Yeah…yeah, okay…Really?...So what does that mean?....Oh, oh, I see….Well, thank you. Thank you very much for letting us know…Goodbye.” Conan hung up, chewing his lip before joining Dawn at the kitchen table.  
Taking a deep breath, she was afraid to ask. “Wh-what did he say?”  
Conan took her hand. “Well, the man who…” he looked at her face, swallowed. “Well, um, he was being held in custody, awaiting trial, and I guess…I guess a couple of weeks ago he got in a fight with someone and now he’s…dead.”  
Dawn blinked rapidly. “Dead?”  
Conan nodded.   
Staring for a full minute, Dawn didn’t respond.  
“Dawn? Are you okay?” Conan asked, gently petting her hand.   
Dawn opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. “I-I…yeah,” she swallowed, looking hard into Conan’s eyes. “He can’t hurt me anymore, can he?”  
Reaching out to stroke her face, Conan smiled sadly, realizing the burden she’d been carrying. “No, never again.”  
Dawn nodded, pulling Conan to her and burying her face in his neck, tears cascading down her face as months of repressed fear she didn’t know she held drained away.  
——


	9. 9

Clapping as R.E.M.’s _Losing My Religion_ came to a close, Conan followed Dawn out of the building towards John’s bar. Emerging into the mid-April air, they found it to be a surprisingly warm evening and when they walked into the tiny dive, everyone was in good spirits as Catherine O’Hara’s week of hosting had been especially successful.   
Taking a seat at the bar, Conan and Dawn ordered a Guinness each, sipping lightly and leaning in to talk over the music.  
“Hey, so, there’s something I wanted to talk to you about,” Conan set down his beer and swiveled on the stool to face her.  
Swallowing, Dawn wiped her lips. “Oh yeah, what’s up?”  
“Well,” Conan began. “During lunch today I had a meeting with Matt Groening and James L. Brooks,” Dawn’s eyes went wide. “And they told me, if I want it, I have a job writing over there next season.”  
Gasping, Dawn jumped up from her stool to hug him. “Oh Conan, that’s great! Congratulations!” She sat back down, rubbing his arm and smiling. “But when did this all start? You didn’t even say anything about it.”  
“Yeah, I, uh…sent my packet into _The Simpsons_ a month ago,” Conan rubbed the back of his neck. “I just didn’t want to say anything in case I didn’t get it.”  
Dawn grinned. “Well, of course you got it. So how are you feeling? Are you sure this is what you want?”  
Looking off into the middle distance, Conan nodded his head slowly. “Yeah, you know, yeah, I think it is. I think I’ve done all I can at SNL and it’s time to move on.”  
Nodding, Dawn squeezed his hand and took a deep breath, holding it. “Well, now comes the hard part: telling Lorne.”  
Conan grimaced. He knew she was right, he had to face Lorne, but he was dreading it.   
—-

On Monday, Conan walked to Lorne’s office, knocking on the doorframe to catch his attention.   
“Come in,” Lorne said with a half grin.   
Lorne gestured to the chair opposite him and Conan took a seat. “I wanted to talk to you about something.” Folding his fingers on the desk, Lorne just nodded. “Well, I’ve loved working here, loved having you as a boss, and I’ve learned more than I ever could’ve imagined, but I think…” Conan swallowed. “I think it’s time for me to move on. I’ve decided it’s going to be my last season.”  
Lorne pursed his lips, nodding slowly. “I see. And you’re certain about this?”  
“Yes,” Conan bit his inner lip. “I’ve been thinking about it for a while and I’m…I’m ready.”  
“Do you mind if I ask where you’re moving on to?” Lorne tilted his head inquiringly.  
“ _The Simpsons_ ,” Conan responded, scratching his chin.   
Smiling, Lorne continued to nod. “Ah, a very good outfit over there,” he placed his hands flat on the desk. “Well, I’m sorry to see you go O’Brien, but I wish you the best of luck.” Standing, he extended his hand.  
Conan shook it, smiling. “Thank you, Lorne. Seriously. Thank you. For everything.”  
Lorne gave him a warm, fatherly smile before they made their goodbyes, Conan exiting his office and Lorne returning to his ever-present pile of paperwork. As Conan walked down the now-familiar hallway, he remembered his first time. Young and shaky, nervously glancing about and accidentally bumping into an intern bearing a huge stack of sketch scripts, Conan was almost as green as you could be, terrified every week of not getting his words on air, of getting fired. But he’d managed to carve a space for himself, to leave his mark on this monumental institution, and as Conan took a seat in his tiny writer’s office, he smiled, running his fingers over the typewriter that brought him through the journey.  
—-

In early May, Delta Burke was hosting and, as expected, pitch was clogged with _Designing Women_ -based ideas. Dawn was polishing up her own spin when she heard a knock at her door.  
“Come in.”   
Conan’s smiling face appeared. “Hey there,” he ran a hand through his hair, the other carrying a stack of papers. “So I have this sketch that I’m working on and it sounds, a little, I don’t know…false maybe? Would you read it with me so I can try to work it out?” He was speaking fast, fidgeting. _Must be nervous about Burke week_. Dawn figured.   
“Sure, no problem,” she stood and he gave her one of the copies.   
“Okay,” Conan leaned in, pointing at the paper. “So your character, Jonesie, he’s hallucinating, right? So you need to deliver all of your lines that way,” Conan pointed at the wall. “Because he thinks he’s talking to this girl ‘Peaches’.”  
“Oh, okay,” Dawn nodded, turning to face the wall.   
Conan cleared his throat. “You ready?”   
“Sure,” Dawn cricked her neck. “Why, hello there Peaches, love of my life, apple of my eye, it’s been so long!” Dawn chuckled internally. Conan would use any excuse to incorporate silly olde-timey language into a sketch.  
“Uhhh…Jonesie, what’s going on?” Conan responded.  
“Why, it’s my lovely Peaches, back from her day at the market. Doesn’t she look swell?” Dawn grinned. _He is so ridiculous_.  
“Jonesie, there’s nobody there. No Peaches. What the hell, dude?” Conan was still speaking quickly, practically blurting out his lines.  
“Nonsense, good sir, I am enamored with her unparalleled beauty and charm. I cannot live without her,” Dawn said.  
“Dude, seriously. You need some help.”   
Dawn flipped to the next page. “Peaches, will you marry me?” She waited. “Will you marry me…? Conan, the next line is yours—“  
Turning around, Dawn saw Conan down on one knee, a trembling hand outstretched with a small velvet box.   
“Actually, I was hoping it would be yours…” he opened it to reveal a silver ring dotted with luminous opals. “Dawn Damel,” Conan swallowed hard. “Will you marry me?”  
Lifting a hand to her open mouth, it took a moment for Dawn to communicate to her brain. Nodding her head, she choked out a “Y-yes!” Conan stood and they embraced, faces mashed together in a mix of tears and laughter, swaying gently in joy.   
Pulling back, Conan brushed her hair away from her face. “I love you so much,” he touched a soft kiss to her lips. Holding up her hand, he slipped the ring on and Dawn fiddled her fingers, making it sparkle in the light.  
“I love you, too, Conan,” Dawn murmured. “I can’t wait to be your wife.” Conan’s face blazed with a smile, crystalline blue eyes twinkling as they held one another in the confines of her office.  
Conan massaged the small of her back. “Let’s go home.”  
“But it’s only four,” Dawn looked at the clock and frowned.”  
“ _Fuck it_ ,” Conan whispered, giving her an impassioned kiss and grabbing her ass. “We can always come in late and finish,” he leaned in, lips warm against her ear. “ _I want to fuck at home so I can hear you scream_.”  
A shiver ran through Dawn and she nodded, gathering up her bag and following Conan out of the building. In the cab ride home they were both squirming, fighting to keep their hands to themselves as the driver wove through traffic.   
Barely getting through the door before Conan peeled her shirt off, their clothing peppered the floor on the way to the bedroom, groping one another greedily as they fell back on the bed. Swallowing her mouth, Conan rubbed his thick cock between her legs, humming at how wet she was. Lips trailing down her flesh, he began to lap between her thighs, Dawn’s hips swiveling into his strong jaw as Conan sucked on her clit and she dripped down his chin. Inserting three long fingers, he gripped upward, dragging her pelvis toward his voracious mouth as Dawn cried out, tugging on his orange hair and thrashing wildly.   
When her seizing started to settle, Conan mounted her, tossing one leg over his shoulder and penetrating deep, a low groan reverberating from his chest. Locking their mouths together, he swung his hips forward, Dawn rising to meet his every stroke as his fingers danced over her engorged clit. Feeling her throb and flutter around him, Conan and Dawn came together, mouths silently forming one another’s names as their bodies gripped, riding the waves of their ecstasy.  
Releasing her leg, Conan stayed inside Dawn until he grew soft, brushing one another’s faces with silent kisses as they gloried in the feel of skin on skin. Finally parting, they didn’t bother with pajamas, sinking into a hazy nap filled with visions of a promising future.  
—-

2001

  
Pacing, Conan brushed off the lapel of his suit and ran a hand over his coiffed orange hair. Peeking at the audience filing in, his throat tightened. If you told him ten years ago he, Conan O’Brien, skinny, sleep-deprived comedy writer, would be hosting _Saturday Night Live_ , he would’ve laughed in your face.  
“Honey?” Dawn rubbed his arm, smiling. She wore a casual black dress, her once-messy hair down in soft, glossy waves. “Are you okay?”  
Conan nodded, adjusting his tie. “Yeah, yeah. I mean, nervous. But I’m okay.”  
She leaned up and circled a hand around the back of his neck, kissing him. “You’re going to be great. I just know it.”  
“Yeah?” Conan smiled anxiously.  
Dawn nodded. “Yeah. I love you.”  
“Love you, too,” Conan said. Overhead, they announced his name and Dawn squeezed his hand. With a deep breath he put a smile on his face, throwing back his shoulders and strolling onto the stage.  
As Dawn watched Conan in his natural habitat, she was aglow with pride. The last ten years had their ups and downs; the early days of _Late Night_ when Conan would come home so anxious about the possibility of being cancelled he couldn’t sleep, glamorously surreal nights at the Emmy awards, the occasional fights about him working too much, the days and nights spent laughing so hard they couldn’t breathe. And now, Dawn saw Conan performing as he always ached to do, crafting comedy before a crowd, and if possible she fell even deeper in love with him in the darkness of the studio where their eyes first met.   
  


THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all who have taken the time to read. If you enjoyed it, please leave a comment or come say hi on Tumblr at fandomtransmandom
> 
> Thanks again!


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